


World Torn Asunder

by robotichawk



Series: Hisul'em and Soufehla's Adventures [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Lyrium Withdrawal, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, Violence, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 22:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 74,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4116736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotichawk/pseuds/robotichawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://robotichawk.tumblr.com/Inquisitors">Soufehla Adahlena Lavellan</a> is a Dalish elf to her very core - the First of Clan Lavellan. She loves her clan more than anything in the world, and yet suffers a terrible betrayal by her lethallin. After a horrific incident with the Templars in the woods, Soufehla hates the Templars as much as she loves her Clan.</p><p>So when she (quite literally) falls into the role of Herald of Andraste (A disgusting shemlen prophet, ugh!) and meets a certain golden-haired Commander, well, let's just hope that these two survive the encounter, yes?</p><p>A story of Soufehla Lavellan wading through the world outside of her elven clan, making new friends and families while one golden Commander and one wolf-like apostate makes lovey-dovey eyes at her. It'll be a miracle if the world doesn't fall apart!</p><p>Pronunciation of her name: <em>Soh-fell-la</em></p><p>sou n. energy, power, stamina, virility, strength<br/>fen n. wolf<br/>Fenla (female) –> as a wolf. From the words: fen(wolf) + la (like, as)<br/>Soufenla -> Soufehla</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dhruast'verathe'lin - Blood Betrayal

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Woods](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2756099) by [despommes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/despommes/pseuds/despommes). 
  * Inspired by [Project Elvhen: Expanding the Elvhen Language](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3553883) by [FenxShiral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FenxShiral/pseuds/FenxShiral). 



> For returning readers: Thank you so much for sticking with the story!! I hope the revisions are worth the wait, and your time for rereading this story. Really, a thousand thanks and kisses towards you all.
> 
> For new readers: You guys are lucky!! You didn't have to deal with the old version, haha. But if you are curious, the old version of WTA is still available in the same series as this work is in. It was quite literally the first thing I have ever written in my life that wasn't related to school-work, so I felt compelled to keep it.
> 
> **Pronunciation of her name: _Soh-fell-la_**
> 
> Her profile has been reworked as well. If you guys are curious, find out more about her [here](http://robotichawk.tumblr.com/Inquisitors)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little orphan who threatens the clan. She is not welcome, they told us. Shemlen Circles can have her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The entire first chapter is of non-consensual sex. If you wish to skip over the rape, go right ahead. I've provided a summary for you at the end notes so you won't get hindered reading the rest of the story.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Also, this chapter is almost identical to previous version. Major revisions will start on chapter 2
> 
> Pronunciation of her name: _Soh-fell-la_

Say hello to Soufehla Adahlena Lavellan! <3

Soufehla softly pads through the deep forest, moonlight barely filtering through the thick canopy. Her nightly strolls are nothing unusual – her clan knows how she enjoys the company of animals as much as she does her clan mates. She always loves to observe the greenery around her, listening to the beautiful melodies of the birds as she hunts during the day, and marvels at how it melts into the comforting howls of the wolves under the moonlight. It is probably why she is a shapeshifter – not that her lethallins knows that. They don’t need to know every detail about her – nobody else knows animals like her.

And yet tonight’s stroll feels different somehow. Nothing is changed, and yet her gut is clenched tightly, every soft trill of insects startling her. The further Soufehla walks from her clan, the stronger the uneasiness grows, until her teeth are set on edge. She picks up her pace, eager to join her pack of wolves. Once she shifts into a wolf and start the hunt with her pack, the adrenaline would set her free of her troubled mind.

She climbs one of the small hills, lightly jogging now, and runs straight into an unyielding object. She stumbles, her hands shooting out to steady her fall, but there are strong hands grasping her arms, righting her before she can hit the ground. Soufehla looks up, words of apology hanging at her smiling lips, but freezes. She is staring directly into the eyes of a shemlen in heavy armor. Her eyes widen as she takes a step back, and soon four other shemlens fill her vision. _This wasn’t good._

“Thank you, messere. I apologize for running into you. I have been thoroughly distracted tonight.” She mumbles quietly, her eyes darting back and forth between the five tall shemlens. Hopefully they would not care for a young Dalish elf. Hopefully they would let her go on her way. Hopefully, she will melt away into the dark shadows beneath the trees.

And yet the vicelike grip on her arm does not lessen. If anything, the shemlen holding her arm tightens his grasp, making her wince.

“A knife-ear with long black hair and green _vallaslin_. This must be her.” The shem holding her speaks. His voice is low, and he sounds almost bored. Soufehla’s heart drops at his words. They have her description. Why do these shems have her description? Her mind buzzes with confusion, thousand thoughts rushing through her brain. These shems must have been waiting for her. _It’s a trap_ , she finally realizes, her eyes focusing on the symbol painted on the shields lying by the side. A symbol of flaming sword bores into her, making her gasp. Templars. She is caught by _Templars_.

“Well isn’t she a pretty little rabbit.” One of the other Templars speaks, and trembling, she lowers her gaze to the ground. She needs to get away from these shems. She must get away _now_. But her face is wrenched up painfully by a huge hand on her chin, and finds herself staring into the eyes of one Templar. His eyes are icy, impossibly blue, ringed with blackness that speaks to her of darkest, foulest desires.

“Please serah. Please let me go.” Her voice seeps out, quietly begging. It comes from someplace else, as if someone else has spoken, not her. Soufehla knows that even with her magic, she can’t win against five Templars. She knows of the stories her lethallins tell around the small camp fires at night. Her Keeper has given her plenty of warnings as well. Mage-killers, Deshanna has told her. Cruel, thoughtless weapons of the Chantry against mages. Mages like her.

The Templars only chuckle at her plea. “What say we have some fun with her?” The blue-eyed one drawls, glancing at the other shemlens. “A little blood Mage played rough and we had no choice but to put her down. Isn’t that right?” His voice is angry. His voice is so very angry. She briefly wonders if he knows of the thick rage that lies in his voice, coiled tight, ready to snap. But Soufehla doesn’t have any time to dwell on that thought, because there is a chorus of murmured assent from the other four Templars gathered about.

Well, she isn’t going to give in without a fight. She is a proud Dalish elf, and a very powerful First. Soufehla would fight to her very last dying breath. She pulls at the thick threads that the Veil is woven of towards her, wrapping herself. She demands for the trees around her to answer to her will. To her sharp relief, she feels the roots of the trees lengthening, reaching towards her. She commands them to entangle the Templars surrounding her so she can escape.

The sudden shock of being wrenched away from the Veil is nothing like she’s experienced before. Feeling blind and sick, she falls heavily to the ground after being Silenced. A hand in a gauntlet twists into her long hair, and drags her up to her knees with a sharp, painful jerk. Soufehla screams, kicking out blindly.

“A blood Mage indeed. And she was so compliant earlier too. Can never trust them. Knife-eared abomination.” She vaguely hears one of the shems sneering at her, but can’t tell which one it is. Then there are too many hands on her. Some are holding her down against the soft grass, others are tearing at her clothes. She struggles, trying to wiggle free when a swift blow to her chin stuns her. Dazed, her limbs go limp for a moment, ceasing the fight for those few precious seconds allowing a Templar to bind her hands with a belt he has freed from his own trousers.

Soufehla cries out, but she is helpless. Her magic remains beyond her desperate reaches, leaving her painfully vulnerable to these lecherous Templars. Through the bloody haze settling around her mind, she can hear the angry voices murmuring insults and praises alike. She tries to pull at her magic again and again in vain, and sees the angry one with those icy blue eyes smirk at her.

Her body is caught unaware when a Templar forces himself into her. There are no words for the pain she feels, for the _violation_ they force her through. She screams again, receiving another swift blow and a low “pretty thing, bite and you will regret it.” Soon her screams are cut short as Soufehla gags on the Templar in her mouth, his coarse hair rubbing her chin raw. She feels the slick blood running down her thighs, easing the tearing pain somewhat, but not the gaping wound it’s left on her soul. She hears one of them commenting on her loss of maidenhead. Others laugh. She feels the burning tears running down her face as she struggles against their bruising grips, hoping that they would rather kill her. She isn’t sure how long she can bear this for.

 

*******

 

Bleeding thorns! By the lost Dales, she hates their bloody Templar stamina. Soufehla isn’t quite sure how long this nightmare has been going on for. Perhaps two hours? More? Her mind has long since fled the horrendous world and is floating within her, ignoring all she can. In. Out. In again. The rhythm is always constant, always there. Then as if noticing the small sanctuary she’s mentally fled to, the one with the blue eyes begins to talk to her.

“Little knife-ear. Know how we found you? Know how we knew about you?”

In. Out. In. Out again. She opens her eyes to narrow slits and glares daggers at him. She would spit if she could, but he is in her mouth. The constant, maddening rhythm of in, out, and in again.

“Your clan told us about you, little rabbit.” He taunts her. “Soufehla, marked by the Dread Wolf, they said. Take her away from our clan, they plead.”

Soufehla doesn’t quite know what she wants to do. Should she scream at him? But his cock fills her throat, blocking any and all noise she could make. And it feels too ineffective of a way to show the pain he’s carving into her soul, the dread that claws into her heart. She is already crying, the angry painful tears wetting her cheeks, so that doesn’t work either. A lethallen has betrayed her. She knows that the blue-eyed Templar speaks the truth. How else would five random shemlens ambush her? In a forest no less? It hurts even more than her broken body does. She feels herself shaking, trembling, caught in a deadly grip of despair, and another Templar chuckles between her legs. He thinks she’s enjoying it.

“Your clan told us of your nightly strolls. Grab her, they urged. While she is alone.” Soufehla feels the tiny whimpers trying to sneak past her lips. She clamps down hard.

“A little orphan who threatens the clan. She is not welcome, they told us. Shemlen Circles can have her.” The blue-eyed one chuckles, pleased, as he finishes in her mouth and withdraws.

Soufehla howls. She howls a long blood curdling cry. Her throat burns as if flames are licking her there. She does not care. The five Templars are shocked into stillness, the maddening rhythm of ins and outs _finally_ pausing. But she does not stop.

“Shut up.” A stinging blow to her face snaps her head to the side. She howls even louder. Another blow lands, this time to the back of her head. She doesn’t stop. They kick her in the stomach. Then she hears it. The answering yowl some distance away. Her heart flutters with small hope. They are close by. She doesn’t even notice the next kick they deliver to her ribs.

“Savage knife-ear.” One of them mutters, still buried deep inside her. But he doesn’t seem too happy anymore, and she is fine with that. Then, her elven ears finally catches the soft thuds against the grassy field. Her heart beats louder, stronger as the sound gets louder. _They are coming for me._

Huge wolves burst out from bushes all around them. Cursing at the sudden attack they were so unprepared for, the Templars lurch away from her, desperately grasping at their swords and shields.

One of them trips over his own trousers hanging around his ankles and Soufehla would have laughed if she could. Instead, she watches as her two huge wolves tear into him. Razor-sharp claws shred his skin to ribbons. His throat is crushed under their strong jaws, and he is left to gurgle and choke on the ground, bleeding out. She feels a deep satisfaction welling up inside her chest as she watches his blood pool around him.

She sees another one holding his shield up against a wolf on top of him. The wolf’s claws dig in deep, leaving deep gashes in the flaming sword symbol over the shield. While the shem is distracted, a second wolf gets behind him rips his legs out with a bite. Clawed to death. Soufehla pulls at her magic once again, and this time it comes to her easily, almost like breathing. Sobbing with relief at the familiar pulse, she burns the hateful belt binding her wrists together. The third Templar falls under three snarling wolves. She stands up on her shaky legs, her inner thighs coated with her own blood.

The fourth Templar screams at his own blood as his stomach is torn apart. He stares horrified, watching his innards spill out of his body cavity. His pained screams are like music to her ears, and Soufehla smiles happily. She stalks over to the last Templar on the ground. He has lost both his shield and sword, with the pack leader circling him. A prey. He is a prey.

The Templar looks up as she approaches and she realizes it’s the one with the icy blue eyes, the one with the angry voice. Their gazes lock onto each other, and his eyes are full of fears which she is fiercely glad to see. He pleads for his life wordlessly, and Soufehla grins. She smiles and gleefully denies his plea.

She doesn’t hear how her own voice is so full of the wrath she’s heard in his voice earlier. She sets his hair on fire, making the Templar writhe and scream, and then sets his cock on fire too. The pubic hair that’s rubbed her chin raw now serves as kindling. His agonized scream sinks into her skin, and she laughs, pleased, her wolves circling the burning piece of meat until he is no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soufehla was not her birth name, as you can imagine. No loving Dalish parents would ever name their child a strong wolf-like girl.
> 
> Soufehla's mother (Adahlena) named her Lathadlan at birth, meaning "love of the forest". But after the incident in the woods described in the above chapter, Soufehla discarded that name, considering that innocent girl to have died in those woods.
> 
> I've called her Soufehla in the chapter to keep the name consistent throughout the story (since I already changed her name once), but I just wanted to point out the fact that she was still "Lathadlan Adahlena Lavellan" during the Blood Betrayal chapter.
> 
> Summary: Soufehla gets caught by five Templars in a forest alone. There is one Templar who stands out to her the most, a man with icy blue eyes who suggests to others that they should have 'some fun'. She is bound by her wrists with a leather belt and endures their touches until her wolf pack finds her and she kills the five Templars. But not before the blue-eyed Templar informs her that her clan mates were the ones who betrayed her to the Templars.


	2. Tarasylan Sou'nin - Wrath of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blast at the Temple of Sacred Ashes tore open the very heavens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a lot more elvhen coming up in this work. Repetitive and simple words, infer-able words will be translated up here. Longer elvhen phrases will be italicized and bolded in text.
> 
> **All elvhen credit goes to incredible FenxShiral. Link to the elvhen project in related works.**
> 
> shem: adj. quick, fast, hasty. Short for shem'len.  
> shem'len: n. Quick children, Derogatory slang for humans.  
> durgen'len: n. m. dwarf, child of the stone  
> Fenedhis: int. a common curse word. While the literal translation would essentially be "Wolf Cock" the use as a curse word in the language is similar to "Shit," "Fuck," or "God Damn"  
> [Mythal](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Mythal): The great protector/goddess of justice and love, etc. (You all know who she is)  
> [Fen'Harel](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Fen%27Harel): The Dread Wolf. (Need I say anything more?)

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”

Soufehla doggedly kept her gaze locked ahead of her, ignoring the warrior-shem circling her. But that didn’t seem to deter this woman in the least.

“The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.” She spat, but Soufehla kept her face smooth, emotionless. She instead stared pointedly at the stone wall in front of her. Creators, this was a _disaster_ if she’s ever seen one.

She’s literally woken up just a few minutes ago, chained down in a dungeon with guards pointing their swords at her. She’d fought viciously, tearing at the rattling chains around her wrists, snarling at the guards until she noticed the unfamiliar magic carved onto her left hand. It wasn’t her magic – it was something ancient, foreign, and dangerous. And it was on _her._

She gritted her teeth as yet another burst of magic shot daggers of pain up her arm. It had been doing so periodically, each wave growing more painful than the last. Even this interrogation wasn’t very successful at distracting her from the strange magic latched onto her hand.

May Mythal guide her, she was supposed to have spied on the Conclave quietly, without alerting a single soul. Considering the questions these two women were throwing at her, apparently now the entire world knew she had snuck into the Conclave, and condemned her as the prime culprit who blew up the entire thing. But through the Creators’ grace – and her precautious nature – these shemlens have yet to link her to her clan. Perhaps her clan could still escape the notice completely.

Soufehla was wrenched out of her thoughts as the warrior-shem rushed her. She clenched her jaw, feeling her anger flare up dangerously as the chains pulled her down while the warrior-shem gripped and shook her. If only she wasn’t shackled down she would have slaughtered them all and escaped a long while ago.

Thankfully, the red-haired woman stopped the warrior – Cassandra, she filed away the name in her head – before leaving the dungeons to go to some place called ‘forward camp.’ Their discussion left her confused, but she kept the stony mask in place. If they unshackled her from the floor, she could flee.

The woman named Cassandra approached her once again, glared at her, and loosened the chains binding her to the icy stone floor. Soufehla almost, _almost_ let out a groan as she felt the chains give, but managed to stuff the noise back down her throat at the very last second. She would not give these shemlens such satisfaction.

Warrior-shem bent down and yanked Soufehla to her feet, digging her metal gauntlets painfully into her shoulders with a bruising grip. Soufehla took two shaky steps towards the door, two tiny steps she needed to loosen her stiffened muscles, two tiny steps to circle the chains around her wrists into her palms to grip tightly.

With a rumbling snarl she whirled around the warrior shem, stepping and pirouetting neatly out of her grasp and placing her behind her back. Without giving the shems even a moment to blink, she kicked out hard at the warrior-shem to send her sprawling onto the floor.

The guards stared at the warrior-shem slack jawed, and Soufehla pounced at the nearest one. She brought her chained hands over the guard’s throat, pulling the iron links tight against the shem’s neck. She pulled hard enough to cut off his airflow.

“Do not move!” She snarled at the guards, making the men hesitate.

“Stand down!” The warrior-shem climbed to her feet, her furious eyes blazing. The guard clawed at his throat, but the gauntlets he wore prevented him from getting his fingers around the tight chain cutting deep into his airway.

“Out of my way, or I will strangle this shem.” Soufehla bared her teeth at the others, hissing.

“Let him go!” The warrior-shem growled and Soufehla pulled just a tiny bit tighter to make the man jerk sharply, his thrashings growing wilder. It was enough to make the others back down a bit.

“Lady Seeker,” the guards hesitated as she slowly stepped backwards towards the door the redheaded woman had left through. The shem fought hard against her, jabbing his elbows into her gut and ribs painfully even as he fought for his breath but she suffered through it silently. Soufehla wrenched at the chains before she loosened just enough to allow the man to take a quick breath.

“You dared to chain me down, shem. By my wrists.” Soufehla sneered at the shems as she climbed the steps one by one.

“Never again, I once swore. Never again. I am not guilty of the crime you accuse me of, but I see no way to prove my innocence and you shems have always been willing to pin it all onto the elves. So, you will pay the price for dishonoring me so by helping me escape.” She spat at the warrior-shem who was inching just a bit too close. The guard was weakening, his desperate jabs into her ribs no longer as sharp or as painful.

“One wrong move, and I will snap his neck.” She growled, trying to feel for the top of the stairs behind her with her feet. She climbed ever so slowly, with the guards following beneath her, dragging the heavy shem up the stairs by the chains. Her wrists were rubbed raw by the manacles, blood slick around her hands just the same as that night. She feared she’d loosen her grip around the shackles because of the slippery blood. But she continued on stubbornly, stepping up one at a time until finally she felt the thick wooden door on her back.

Surprised screams and startled alarms sounded as Soufehla pushed the door open, dragging the limp guard in tow. She saw the Chantry clerics running out of the corner of her yes, the bright red fabrics rustling loudly.

“You will never make it past the village gates! This is foolhardy!” Warrior-shem shouted at her, but Soufehla merely snorted. She didn't need to drag the man the entire way. She just needed to get out into the open. The moment she was out of this building, she was _free_.

Soufehla gritted her teeth, putting one foot behind her before putting another behind that. Her eyes constantly roamed around, keeping the guards as well as the path out behind her in sight. She was almost, _almost_ to the huge gates of the Chantry. She could see the towering doors embellished with intricate carvings. Her blood was dripping down, leaving a scarlet trail of the path she walked though it was smeared by the guard she dragged. Reinforcements were pouring in, the new soldiers trying to encircle her with a shout. Soufehla jerked the chains once more and they backed off for now. No doubt they planned to grab her once she tired from the guard's heavy weight. But they didn’t know she was almost free.

After eons of tiny laden steps, Soufehla pushed against the doors and stepped out into the open under the glaring sunlight. After the dark dungeon the bright sunlight was harsh up on her eyes, bringing stinging tears to pool silently. Soufehla paused and blinked furiously to push away her tears, squinting against the light until her eyes finally adjusted. Having her visions blurred in this situation would be same as signing her death warrant. She waited a beat longer before continuing to move.

“You claim you are innocent. Is that true?” The warrior-shem suddenly asked her, her sword still drawn in front of her.

“Why do you ask? You do not need to ascertain my guilt in order to use me as a scapegoat, shem.” She sneered.

“If you are truly innocent, look up.” The warrior-shem jerked her head sharply upward and though Soufehla felt reluctant to do so, she glanced quickly up at the sky.

Her mouth dropped open in utter bewilderment.

There was a hole in the sky. A sodding hole! A hole in the sky that spat out demons even as she watched! And it was the same sickly green hue as the unfamiliar magic on her hand. Oh Creators, she was in heaps of trouble.

A soft thud wrenched her mind back into place, and Soufehla realized that she’d slackened the chain across the guard’s throat enough for him to kneel by accident, her fingers loosening around the chain at the shock.

The man started to cough explosively and Soufehla allowed him to get some direly needed air before tugging lightly to remind him he was still a hostage.

She knew she should flee. She had the chance now – she could escape right now. With her abilities, nobody would ever be able to catch her if she fled now. She could shift into a wolf or an eagle the moment she was lost within the forest, lose the hateful shackles that way and return to her clan.

But there was a hole in the sky. Why? How? Just what was that bloody green hole doing in the sky? And why was it the same color as that thing on her hand?

She glared at the warrior-shem who was still trying to inch closer.

“Why is there a bloody hole in the sky?!” She demanded, her eyes flickering towards the green thing again. “How? What’s up with the demons? What happened at the Conclave, shem?”

“You do not know?” Warrior-shem glared right back at her, though her eyes seemed confused.

“I don’t remember what happened! What is that thing?!”

Begrudgingly the warrior-shem began to explain that the hole – Breach, whatever – was caused by an explosion at the Conclave, but at that moment the hole expanded with a sickening pulse. The magic on her hand throbbed in time with the pulse, and this time it sent a wave of pain so potent that Soufehla couldn’t help but scream, clutching at her errant hand. She fell to her knees, desperately cradling her arm against her body and wondered if her arm was going to fall off. The guard crawled away from her, wheezing and gasping just as the warrior-shem and others rushed up to her with their swords drawn.

But Soufehla couldn’t defend herself, couldn’t even open her eyes against the pain that ached within her. She curled up into a fetal position, protecting her organs from the sword strike that was surely about to slash down at her.

But the warrior-shem crouched down next to her, her eyes blazing as if she was going to rip her to shreds. But she restrained herself with great effort.

“Each time the Breach expands, your Mark spreads. And it is killing you.” She explained with clipped voice, and Soufehla groaned. _Wonderful. Fen’Harel’s teeth, what have I gotten myself into?_

So her impromptu plan of fleeing was _not_ going to solve her problems. Soufehla grunted heavily as the warrior-shem once again dragged her back up. The woman seemed furious enough to punch her in the face, though to Soufehla’s surprise she didn’t.

“You’re not going to kill me?” Soufehla hissed through the pain, her eyes opened into tiny slits.

“No. We need you for now.” With that, the warrior-shem grabbed her by her shirt and dragged her along. Soufehla stumbled a little before finally finding her balance and followed the warrior through the small camp of shemlens. Their gazes were full of untold hatred, cutting into her as sharply as the magic on her hand did. Soufehla snorted quietly to herself, amused. _Shemlens, they will never change._

* * *

Cassandra rolled, landing roughly with a grunt as the bridge exploded underneath them. She lay there dazed for a few moments before she scrambled to her feet, glancing about to see her prisoner staring amusedly at her. The elf had landed like a cat, not even stumbling despite the long fall. Were all elves so balanced like her?

“Shemlens,” She heard the woman mutter under her breath, and shook her head. It did not matter. Idle wonders have no place during a battle. With a grunt, she started to head across the frozen lake with the prisoner in tow.

The sizzling pop noise from the prisoner’s hand was all the warning she got before shades started to fall down onto their heads. Maker damn it all, she didn’t know if she could fight all three and live. But she must try. Everything depended on her ability to bring this prisoner safely to the forward camp. Unsheathing her sword and planting herself between the prisoner and the shades, Cassandra shouted “Stay behind me!”

Without looking back she rushed at the shade, pummeling it hard with her shield. It slumped in front her from the force of the blow, and Cassandra sliced and cut until it bled its demonic ichor. She pulled back for the final blow, ready to drive her sword home when a bolt of lightning struck the shade. It screeched horrendously, making Cassandra want to cover up her ears before it dissolved.

Whirling around, Cassandra found her prisoner spinning a staff in her hand.

“It’s over.” She shrugged, planting the staff firmly onto the ice.

“Drop your weapon. _Now!_ ” Cassandra immediately pulled her sword on the prisoner, growling. Maker, how could she have allowed her to get her hands on a staff? Just moments ago this elf nearly killed a guard with her bare hands, without even a hint of magic! She readied herself, reaching for her powers, preparing to Smite this woman.

“Really? Are you _really_ asking me to disarm?” The prisoner sighed, cocking her head. “Do you think I need a staff to be dangerous?”

“Is that supposed to reassure me? You don’t need it. You don’t _need_ to fight.” She growled, stepping closer with utmost care.

“Are you saying it won’t happen again, shem?” She spat, bringing her up short. Could she truly bring this prisoner to the forward camp, through the demon-infested mountain path by herself? Just now, there had been three shades that’d fallen on top of them. The prisoner had dispatched two while she pummeled one.

Cassandra glared at the elf, inspecting her. The woman was undoubtedly powerful and skillful, considering the way she’d just handled herself during the battle. And yet she had not attacked her since the Chantry, and she had not fled. She’d been cooperative since she saw the Breach in the sky. Sighing, she slowly sheathed her sword.

“You’re right.” She grumbled, nodding. “I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to be defenseless.”

The prisoner snorted at that, looking amused. Before she could speak again, the elf put away her new staff, sneering at her. “Do try to remember later on that I also didn’t try to run or attack this time.”

“I shall.” She sighed, before turning to trudge up the thin path. They still had a long way to go till the forward camp.

*******

 

The prisoner was practically a maelstrom all by herself. With her new staff held gingerly in her hand, the small woman commanded her magic with a certainty that left Cassandra with no doubt that her mysterious prisoner was a very powerful Mage, and no stranger to combat or violence.

She watched as the elf gritted her teeth, calling forth multiple lightning strikes that left the demons stunned and confused, leaving them as easy targets for Cassandra to dispatch quickly. She fought through the horde of demons that fell from the sky with ease and grace that made her wonder if she killed them on daily basis for sport. She would have believed so if not for the blistering rage she saw on the prisoner’s face.

She watched closely as the Mage froze a rage demon into a huge block of ice, shattering it with a strong shield bash. The prisoner winced once in a while, in time with the sickly pulse of the Breach, but did not complain. She doggedly followed her on the mountain path, quiet and grim, battle spells always ready at hand and never falling behind despite the obvious strain visible on her pained eyes.

_At least she knows how to handle herself in battle_

Cassandra thought, as yet another wave of wisps descended upon them. Thank the Maker that it wasn’t some whiny noble or – Maker forbid! – Chancellor Roderick that had the strange magic on their hand.

* * *

Soufehla endured. She endured the bright bursts of pain from the strange magic that jolted her every few minutes or so. She endured through countless demons wanting to tear her to pieces. She endured through the unfamiliar staff she picked up from a corpse. She endured with the burning rage swiping away any and all things that blocked her path. She _endured_.

After traveling for about half an hour or so through the horde of demons, Soufehla finally heard the ringing clashes of weapon steel. The warrior-shem called out from behind her a few minutes later.

“We’re getting close to the rift. You can hear the fighting.”

 _I’ve heard it long before now, shem_. But she kept her mouth closed, simply nodding at the woman. There was no need to alert the woman to her elven hearing.

“Who’s fighting?” She asked instead, running up the steps.

“You’ll see soon. We must help them.”

The shem was right, Soufehla saw them soon enough. Shemlen soldiers fighting for their lives against shades near a Rift in the air. One of them fell with a scream just as Soufehla reached them, and she howled her battle-cry.

Soufehla may not like the shems, but she did not wish to see these soldiers fall needlessly to the horrific demons. With a sweep of her arms, Soufehla cast a magical barrier over the fighting soldiers, shielding them as best she could from the demons before she turned her attention to the Rift. Her arm ached, throbbing, pulsing, drawing her towards the Rift with that alien, ancient power. She growled at it as warrior-shem rushed past her, battering a shade about to bite down on a soldier.

Soufehla shook her head, pulling her attention back towards the shades. It wasn’t long before all the demons in the area dissolved, pulled back into the Fade through the Rift.

“Quickly, before more come through!” Someone shouted from her left, and just as she turned to look at who’d spoken a strange elf grabbed her hand and thrust it forward at the Rift.

Soufehla bit down _hard_ , drawing blood from her lips as she chocked on the scream that threatened to spill from her. The pain – it was unbelievable. Her arm felt as if it was on fire, burning, withering into a crisp slab of meat, ready to fall off. A green glowing light connected her hand to the strange Rift, pulling, wrenching at her until she could bear no more, and Soufehla pulled, tearing at the connection. The Rift slammed shut in response, leaving her haggard and drained.

“What did you do, flat-ear?” She snarled, yanking her arm out of his grasp. She cradled it once more against her body, looking at the strange magic sizzle and pop on her hand.

“ _I_ did nothing. The credit is yours.” The flat-ear shrugged, seemingly unfazed. Soufehla blinked for a moment. She’d never encountered a flat-ear before who wasn’t scared to death of her, of her Dalish markings. But before she could wonder any more about it, the flat-ear continued talking.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that Mark upon your hand. I theorized the Mark might be able to close the Rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct.”

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.” Warrior-shem said as she approached them, hope flooding her voice.

“Possibly.” The flat-ear answered simply.

Soufehla looked up from her hand, to the elf whom she now assumed was a Circle Mage. She was about to spit when her eyes met his, locking their gazes and she stilled. _She knew this elf_.

Soufehla’s never met him before in her life, and yet she felt as if this flat-ear may know her deepest, darkest secrets. There has always been a strange pull on her soul she’s been aware of since her childhood, an unknown thread that tied her to… _something_ , a mystery she’s never understood about herself. But standing here now and looking into his enigmatic eyes, Soufehla finally realized it’s _him,_ this strange flat-ear that she is tied to.

Her mouth opened, drawing in a sharp breath, hundred questions hanging on her lips. But he beat her to it.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” He smiled gently at her, and she closed her mouth with a snap. That extra few seconds has bought her enough time to _think_ , to realize that perhaps blurting out to a stranger ‘why are you tied to my soul’ isn’t the best thing to do. Especially with the demons raining down on them and a green glowing thing on her hand that’s killing her even right as of this moment. So she kept her mouth shut, and listened as a durgen’len spoke wryly.

“Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever.”

She turned around to look at the durgen’len walk up to them, her eyes immediately drawn to his ample chest hair. Even in the snowy mountains he kept his shirt open, baring his thick curly chest hair for all to see.

“Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.” He winked, making the warrior-shem scowl impressively.

“That’s… a nice chest hair you have there.” She stuttered out, her eyes roaming over the thick bunch. She’s never seen chest hair before.

Then her mind caught up to the words that had tumbled out of her mouth, and jerked sharply.

“I meant crossbow! The crossbow! You have a nice crossbow!” She fumbled, blushing furiously as all three stared at her strangely.

“Ah, the bane of my life. My chest hair. Really, no woman can ever resist it.” The durgen’len eventually chuckled out, making her flush once more.

“I really did mean to say crossbow.” She mumbled, and the durgen’len smiled kindly.

“Bianca and I have been through a lot together.” He gave her a way out, which she took gladly.

“You named your crossbow Bianca?”

“Of course. And she’ll be great company in the valley.” He said.

Before she could ask about the valley, the flat-ear cut into the conversation.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.” He spoke quietly, a calm smile always playing by his lips.

 _Pride? What a strange name_. _Most likely a moniker_. She mused, studying him closely. Just why was he so familiar to her?

“He means, ‘I kept that Mark from killing you while you slept.’” Durgen’len supplied helpfully.

“Then, I owe you my thanks.” She tilted her head in a quick bow, her eyes never leaving his. Was he truly just a flat-ear?

“Thank me if we manage to close the Breach without killing you in the process.” He chuckled, nodding. “And what might your name be?”

“Maker, I haven’t even asked her!” The woman exclaimed beside her, smacking her head. Fenedhis, she’d hoped she could go for longer without having to reveal herself. She did not trust them enough to give her real identity.

“Adahlena.” Soufehla blurted out her mother’s name, praying to the Creators that she would be able to flee before her deception was found out. “My name is Adahlena.”

“A daughter of the forest, what a fitting name.” Solas smiled and did not press for her clan name. Sighing inwardly with relief, Soufehla followed the three strange people down into the demon-filled valley.

“Well, Bianca’s excited!” The durgen’len nudged her leg, grinning as if they were going on a picnic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, _please_ leave comments, let me know what you guys like/dislike about the revisions. I would love to know what you guys think :)
> 
> Also, I am thinking about doing a particular questions/answers thing. If you have *any* questions, please send them my way either in the comments below or on [tumblr](http://robotichawk.tumblr.com/ask).


	3. Tarasylan Sou'nin (ta) - Wrath of Heaven (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much chatter, on the way to nigh certain death!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trespasser DLC spoiler warnings!!
> 
> Again, all elvhen credits go to FenxShiral's elvhen project. Translations in text are italicized and underlined.
> 
> uthenera: eternal waking dream. What ancient elves did when they tired of living.  
> da'lan: n. f. child, young person. Little one/young one.  
> vallas'lin: n. designs written in blood upon the face or body of the dalish, used to denote not only clan, but also the personal signature of that person, as well as the god within the elven pantheon that they have chosen as their patron. During Elvhenan, was the blood writing written upon the faces of slaves.  
>  **uren'daorsha: flat-ear.**  
>  **felasil: fool**

Angry Soufehla

Solas studied the young elf with interest, the young da’lan he was so familiar with.

He’d never met her before during the past year he has wandered awake of course, but _this_ was the elf who’d drawn him to her in the Fade for the last six years. _This_ was the elf that dreamed the dreams that had made him surface from his uthenera. This elf was for some reason, tied to him in an inexplicable way.

He scanned Mythal’s slave markings etched onto her face, the lush green _vallaslin_ that somehow brightened her sparkling sharp eyes despite most of it being hidden by skin-colored putty. Her dark eyes were mysterious, deep pools of moonless midnight with the barest hints of flashing violet that held a thousand secrets. He has, of course, seen her before in the Fade while he prowled unnoticed in her dreams. But the visions he’d observed of her for past years did not begin to do her justice. She was much more… interesting… in real life, if such a thing was possible.

He knew her deepest secrets, her darkest fears. He knew the love this da’lan felt for her clan, the tearing pain she endured every time her lethallins shot her a hateful look. He knew how protective she was of her Keeper, and how fervently she wished to be treated normally despite putting as much distance between her and her clan as possible.

So why was this da’lan here alone? Where was her wolf pack? Where was her beloved Keeper, with her silver hair and orange eyes that smiled at da’lan as if she was her own daughter? Why was it that of all the people in this fake world, she was the one who ended up with his Anchor? Was it because of her wolven connection with him?

“You are Dalish, but clearly away from the rest of your clan. Did they send you here?” He asked, drawing a sharp glance from this da’lan. Every muscle in her body seemed drawn tightly like a bowstring, ready to snap at the lightest touch.

Her slender hand flew up to her angled cheekbones, tapping tenderly to find the crumbling putty that was breaking away to reveal her _vallaslin_. Admittedly, it was the only thing that marked her as Dalish at the moment. Most likely this da’lan hadn’t realized the putty keeping her disguise intact has been constantly being rubbed off by demon grime during the past few fights.

“What do you know of the Dalish?” She hissed, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Circle Mages have no business with my people.”

“I am not a Circle Mage, da’lan.” He answered amicably, ignoring the hostility that burned in her words. He’s come to expect such behaviors from those that called themselves Dalish. Besides, how could he possibly take offense when he’d seen her tremble with fear in the darkest corners of the Fade? He knew of the tender heart she carried within her soul. “I have wandered many roads in my time. I have crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion.”

“Then you know the Dalish well enough to be careful.” She spat, moving ahead of him with quick steps. “Outsiders have no business inquiring about the Dalish. Diana avahnal, uren’daorsha!” _Stop asking, flat-ear_.

“Can’t you elves just play nice for once?” Varric groaned next to him, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. This da’lan held fire within her. Her name… Adahlena, was it? He’d lied. It didn’t suit her at all. It felt... too soft for this little ball of spitfire, too serene. She was a survivor. No, a name such as Sounin would befit her better. A person with strength within. Or even Souvhen’an perhaps, a strong heart. Yes, he mused quietly, this da’lan deserved a strong name.

Not that it mattered though. He shrugged, focusing as another wave of demons surged towards them. No matter the strange link he felt that bound them together, she was just one of the many dregs of the People that lingered on in this age. She was inconsequential. An unexpected mistake, and yet nothing more than just another casualty of war.

* * *

“So…  _are_ you innocent?”

Soufehla rolled her eyes, almost groaning as the durgen’len asked curiously. Fen’Harel’s teeth, why were they so darn chatty? She couldn’t remember the last time she’s held a conversation for this long. Not to mention the fact that they were still sloshing through the demon filth raining down from the sodding hole in the sky. Was everyone this talkative during their never-ending fight for life? Or was it just these strange people?

Durgen’len nudged her, his eyes clearly expecting an answer. Soufehla sighed. “I don’t remember what happened.”

“That’ll get you every time.” Durgen’len chuckled, and she glanced down at him. Why was that so funny?

“You should have spun a story.” He said, wiggling his finger at her.

“That’s what _you_ would have done.” The shemlen sighed next to her, shaking her head.

“It’s more believable, and less prone to result in premature execution.” The durgen’len chuckled, and Soufehla couldn’t help but snort. Despite herself, she thought that this… Varric wasn’t as half bad as she’d expected. He was certainly witty.

“Perhaps I _should_ have spun a story.” She smirked, allowing the barest hint of smile to brush up on her lips as she electrocuted yet another group of shades blocking their path. At first she’d been enraged against the demons that screeched, the familiar burn of her anger surging forth in the form of her magic. But after nearly an hour of constant battle, even her rage subsided to more of a tired, automatic response. Dispatching the shades and the wisp, she let out a quiet sigh of relief as she once again heard the loud clashing of steel. The flat-ear heard it as well.

“We’re almost at the forward camp.” He said to no one in particular, but they all moved more quickly now. She almost sprinted up the last bit of the slope to come to a stop in front of yet another Rift.

“Another Rift!” The shemlen shouted, rushing forward to protect the soldiers, as the flat-ear cast the barriers. “We must seal it, quickly!”

 _You mean_ I _need to seal it quickly_. Soufehla grumbled to herself, bracing herself against the pain before sticking her arm out towards the Rift. It tore at her as the first one had, ripping away tiny bits of her being, until a bright flash and a small explosion severed the connection. But this one didn’t disappear.

“Mythal guide me, it’s not working!” She shouted out, looking to the people fighting to keep the demons off her.

“It weakened the demons! Try again, Adahlena!” Flat-ear shouted back, smashing his staff against a stunned wisp to make it dissolve. Without a second thought, Soufehla connected the Mark to the Rift again.

It sizzled, popping and straining stronger than before. It burned brighter, sending daggers into her arm before she could slam it shut with a gesture.

Soufehla forced a breath through her nose, breathing, wading through the thick hazy cloud of pain as the shemlen shouted for the gates to be opened. She felt nauseated, swaying slightly before she stood up straight with a wince. She would not show weakness in front of all these shems.

“We are clear for the moment. Well done.” The flat-ear moved closer to her, murmuring quietly.

“I do not require your approval, uren’daorsha.” She hissed, tossing her head and stepping away. But Varric soon caught up to her.

“Whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s useful.” He said dryly, shooting a wary look at her green-glowing hand. She nodded, also looking down. “Useful, true. But also dangerous.” _It’s killing me_. She added silently, walking past the open gates.

She was greeted by the red-headed woman from earlier in the dungeon… Leliana? Soufehla pulled the name out from the long list of names she’s been compiling. Yes, that was it. Strange to see a shem with the same name as the companion of Hero of Ferelden here. And a man clad in red Chantry robes. Chancellor Roderick. Another name for her list.

“As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution!” The shem squawked, leaving her stunned for a moment. Then Soufehla burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all. She laughed cruelly, wiping at the tears and holding her cramping stomach.

“You… you… you would laugh?!” The male shem grew red in the face, almost as red as his ridiculous robes. She grinned savagely at the man, baring her elongated canines. To her fierce satisfaction the man flinched back, terror flashing in his eyes at her magicked wolf fangs.

“You felasil! Did you not see the Rift that just closed right beyond that gate? The Rift I closed? No one else can close it, shem. And yet you would send me away to get executed while leaving a demon-spitting hole ripped open in the sky?” She threw her head back and laughed some more.

“Shem’alas lath’din, your idiocy may doom the world to never-ending charges of demons.” _ dirty human no one loves_,

The shem sputtered, looking as if he wanted to strike her. But the warrior-shem snorted as well. “‘Order me’? You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!”

“And you are a thug!” The red shem shrieked, voice rising with each word. “But a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!”

“We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know.” The red-headed shem snapped back, making Soufehla snort. _Shemlens_ , she shook her head. They would never change. An infighting while the sky itself was torn open. Perfect.

“So none of you are actually in charge here.” She sneered, making the red shem flush once more.

“You killed everyone who was in charge!”

“Right, _I_ did, by myself.” She shrugged, turning her attention back to the sky. As if any one mortal could have caused this disaster without help.

“Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.” The red shem sighed, despair clear in his eyes.

“We can stop this before it’s too late.” The warrior-shem refused stubbornly, setting her jaw.

“How? You won’t survive long enough to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers.”

“We must get to the temple. It’s the quickest route.” The warrior-shem insisted.

“But not the safest. Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.” Said the red-hair shem.

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It’s too risky.” The warrior-shem shook her head.

Soufehla was started to get somewhat bored of all the shemlens arguing. Annoyed and bored.

“Listen to me. Abandon this now before more lives are lost!” The red shem cried once more, distracting them all. Soufehla wanted to throttle him – _would_ have throttled him, if it wasn’t for another loud crackling of Breach sending bursts of pain through her arm.

The group around her grew quiet as the magic danced on her hand, watching it sizzle and die down before speaking once more.

“How do you think we should proceed?” The warrior-shem turned to her.

“You would ask me? Your prisoner? I have no idea how your men are positioned! How many soldiers we have at disposal! I do not know the terrain, the situation!” Soufehla stared, but they only shrugged.

“You have the Mark.” Flat-ear supplied.

“And you are the one we must keep alive. Since we cannot agree on our own…”

Soufehla looked up to the mountains. She did not have enough information to make this decision. She groaned, feeling her arm starting to throb once more. Did they truly expect her to make such a blind choice?

Yes, yes they did. She shook her head, closing her eyes. She supposed she would prefer to go through the mountains – she was Dalish after all. She didn’t know enough at the moment to make a strategic decision, so she might as well go with her gut.

“Use the mountain path.” She said, turning to look at the group. “Pull the soldiers out of battle. Keep them in a defensive line around the camp here, limit the unnecessary casualties while I attempt to close the Breach. If there is any luck at all, the Rifts would close along with the Breach and the demons will disappear. And maybe we get lucky enough to even find that squad of scouts.”

They all stared at her for a moment, before nodding.

“Let’s move!” The warrior-shem called out, getting the group to bustle out. “Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley. _Everyone_.” The shem left quickly after nodding her assent.

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker.” The red shem spat as they marched past him.

“Lasa adahl su nar masa!” Soufehla snapped, shaking her head once they were well on their way.

The flat-ear chuckled at her insult, bringing a smile to her lips despite herself.

“What? Hey, what’d you say to him?” Varric asked. She was only too happy to answer.

“I told him to go shove a tree up his ass.” She winked. “Though I suspect he already has one in there.”

“You know what? I think I like you.” Varric laughed.

* * *

“Move it! Move it!” He shouted, pelting across the battlefield at full speed. He just barely managed to block a strike from a terror demon about to shred his lieutenant. His left shoulder jarred at the impact, his shield creaking under the strain.

“Sorry, ser!” His man panted beneath his shield just as Cullen dispatched the demon with a quick stab. The man looked almost dead on the ground with exhaustion and Cullen was certain he didn’t look any better.

“How long have you been fighting for?” He demanded, pulling the man up to his feet.

“I… I don’t know. Three hours I think? More?”

“Get off the field now, lieutenant. You are of no help fighting exhausted!” Cullen snapped at him before moving towards yet another skirmish. Maker, it was raining demons. There was no end to this nightmare. He had been fighting non-stop for past Maker knows how long, trying to confine the never-ending tide of demons in this valley. So far, he hasn’t been that successful considering that the demons falling down on to the world from the sky, but he didn’t plan on stop trying.

Cullen fought. He blocked, parried, stabbed and cut, fighting through the battlefield. His new blade and shield dealt devastating damage with each and every motion against the demons, and yet it was not enough. Wave after wave of demons appeared from the Rift, and Cullen grew exhausted with every passing second. His feet dragged behind him, and his sword didn’t rise as high, or cut as quickly as it did before. The number of talon strikes skidding off his armor grew with each wave.

Maker, he wasn’t going to survive this one. Cullen whirled around, bashing a despair demon hard enough to send it tumbling into the ground before it could freeze one of his soldiers.

He’d lived through two mage rebellions and a qunari invasion. Against all odds, he’d _survived_. And yet, Cullen knew that he’s finally found his deathbed.

“Commander! Commander!” A voice finally snapped him out of daze, making him focus on the messenger that ran towards him during the short respite of demons.

“What is it, soldier?” He barely had enough strength left to open his mouth. Maker, if death would allow him to get some blasted sleep already, even a nightmare-ridden one, he would embrace it gladly.

“Word from the forward camp, ser. We are to retreat.”

Cullen stared at the messenger for a moment, uncomprehending. Retreat? To where? There was no safe place to retreat to.

“They expect us to retreat?” He asked, wiping the sweat off his brows.

“Yes ser. Sister Nightingale’s request ser.”

He shook his head. “It’s not Chancellor Roderick’s antics? You’re sure?”

“Yes, Commander. Lady Seeker’s brought the prisoner up from Haven. The prisoner’s apparently suggested focusing the soldier’s efforts on protecting the forward camp while she took the mountain path to the Breach. Any further actions are to be determined after the prisoner attempts to close the Breach, ser.”

Cullen closed his eyes, fighting against a dizzy spell that passed over him quickly. The prisoner has finally woken up. It was their last hope.

“Captain!” Cullen barked, turning around to find his men panting and groaning around the field.

“Yes Commander!”

“We are retreating to the forward camp!” He strode towards his men. “Split off into three groups! First group is to move out now. Second group will go after the next wave of demons. Third group will go after that, while archers cover us!” Cullen’s voice rang out in the clearing, reaching every last one of his soldiers.

“Yes ser!”

“Right away, ser!”

Just then, Cullen felt the Veil twist and shudder, announcing the next wave of demons arriving.

“Move, move! The next wave is coming!” He shouted, watching a group of his soldiers running off the field and readying his shield. Just two more waves, he thought to himself. He needed to survive just two more waves.

* * *

“I will melt all this snow off the mountain!” Soufehla seethed, sparks flying between her fingers as her temper flared when her foot got caught in a deep pocket of snow. Again. At least this time she didn’t fall face first into the treacherous depths of the disgusting thing.

“What in Fen’Harel’s name have I done to get dropped in this freezing hell of snow?” She shouted, drawing a low chuckle from the group behind her.

“It’s not funny!” She hissed, glaring at the three standing behind before she returned to contemplating tossing fireballs into the mountainside. Her meager shemlen servant clothes she’d stuffed herself into as a disguise have been drenched, frozen solid long ago by the wintry wind. The deep snow she’s been forced to walk through was caked on, clinging to her chilled skin. She felt absolutely _miserable_.

Usually, she could glide across the snowy fields as if she was floating. But between her frozen muscles and the Mark that was sending bursts of agonizing pain through her every few minutes, Soufehla all but stomped through the dreadful stuff like a druffalo.

“Hey, there, relax. It’s just snow.” Varric patted her on the back, and Soufehla glowered.

“Dhava ‘ma masa, durgen’len! You don’t have a green magic thing on your hand killing you. And I’m not even wearing armor, let alone furs to keep me warm!” She hissed.

“You gonna tell me what you said?” Varric just grinned at her, and she doggedly ignored him while trying to free her trapped foot from the icy, dreadful snow.

“She said ‘kiss my ass,’ child of the Stone.” The flat-ear chuckled. “And you’re just at the right height to do so.”

“Hey, now that’s just mean. The height thing is racism!”

“Fine. Pala adahl’en, Varric. Better?” She snorted, twisting her leg to angle her foot differently.

“And that means…?”

“Go fuck a forest.” The flat-ear translated in a perfectly even tone.

“Better.” Varric chuckled.

Her foot suddenly ripped out of the icy grasp, and Soufehla landed on her ass with a heavy grunt. She stared up at the green sky, chilly snow snaking its way under her low collar. This was torture. Why hadn’t she taken the other path? She was dying, the world was ending! There were demons _literally_ raining down on them, and she was stuck in fucking _snow!_

“Do you need a hand?” The warrior-shem suggested somewhat apologetically.

“Su an’banal i’ma shem!” _To the void with you_ Soufehla hissed, deciding that it wasn’t worth the effort to set them all on fire as they laughed, no matter how badly she wanted to. She returned to the grueling task of pulling herself out of the snowbank, the sound of laughter trilling around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments!!! <3


	4. Tarasylan Sou'nin (tan) - Wrath of Heaven (3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Falon'Din](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Falon%27Din): Friend of the Dead, the Guide. Elven God of Death and Fortune and guides the dead to the Beyond.  
>  lethal'lin: n. m. blood kin, very close and dear friend

Mage Soufehla!

After closing yet another Rift, rescuing a squad of shemlens, and another set of hateful ladders, Soufehla finally dropped into the entrance of the Temple. There was no snow here; heat from the explosion had all but scorched the ground black. The putrid stench of burning corpses she was so familiar with immediately flooded her hyper senses, drawing her eyes to countless twisted and charred carcasses littered about what once was a holy ground.

Soufehla’s gut clenched tight, and she couldn’t help the dread that poured into her. She’s burned her fair share of Templars, true, and rather gruesomely too. But a temple full of _innocents_ was a different matter entirely from a few dozen vicious Templars. Soufehla walked closer to one of the still-smoking bodies and knelt down to examine it. Like all the other victims the limbs were contorted grotesquely, reflecting the drawn-out agony these people must have suffered before their death claimed them. Soufehla tentatively allowed her hand to hover over the head for a moment before sighing and bowing her own head. The shemlens won’t be able to identify any of the victims.

She was supposed to have been one of them, one of the victims.

The crippling realization nearly toppled her. She would have been among these shems and flat-ears, writhing in misery. Screaming herself hoarse until the flames snuffed out her last breath, the fire burning her lungs, filling her throat with black soot long before her death released her from the agonizing torments. _Creators, she has walked out of here with nothing but her Mark._ No wonder the warrior-shem suspected her. Soufehla would suspect herself too in her shoes. And in that small realization, all the terror of the day finally clashed into her. All the demons, the shemlens’ hatred, and the constant fighting overwhelmed her, leaving her trembling and weak in its wake. All noise faded into the background, and Soufehla could no longer hear anything but the blood pumping through her body. _Creators, she would have been one of them._

She should have died with them. Looking at the horror-filled remnants of the temple, Soufehla knew she should have perished. There was no way a mortal could survive something like this. But she was alive and breathing, _feeling_.

Soufehla was feeling pain. The Mark was shredding into her, the constant agony clawing up her limb. The pain grew with each passing second.

 _I am going to die_ , she realized.

Closing three tiny Rifts had left her shaking with crippling exhaustion. How was she supposed to survive closing the Breach?

 _I am going to die_.

Soufehla swayed. It was a fact. She was going to die. She’d escaped the terrible explosion, but not her fate. She would perish at this shemlen temple, just the same as thousand others.

Soufehla felt a gentle hand on her, and finally tore her eyes off the still-hot bodies to rest them on the flat-ear. The man just shook his head at her grimly, and Soufehla swallowed thickly before nodding. Right, the Breach. Every second she wasted cost someone’s life.

Trying to keep her mind off the horrors she’s just seen, Soufehla trudged along with the party to the first Rift. But Soufehla no longer heard the banter passing between the party members, wading through the bloody haze of bone-weary exhaustion, terror, pain, and that realization.

_I am going to die._

Soufehla supposed it did not matter. She was just one lone elf, unattached to even her clan. The clan’s Second would now become the First, and Deshanna would train the Second as she trained her. No one would mourn her passing.

_I am going to die._

She was but a lone elf, stubbornly fighting to live another day despite everyone hating her. Soufehla now knew why she did not die that night five years ago. That wasn’t the right moment for her to die.

This was the right moment to die. With this strange Mark on her hand, she could save millions of lives. Her clan, these innocent shems, _everyone_. Closing the doorway which allowed the demons to flood this world.

 _I am going to die_.

Soufehla would close the Breach. Falon’Din had not guided her to the Beyond yet. He’d allowed her to stay in this world for a little while longer, so she could close the Breach. This was her purpose, the one thing that’s kept her in this world. Soufehla only survived till now because she was needed to close the Breach.

 _Creators, I am finally going to die_.

She would close the Breach and perish.

Well, fuck. She didn’t want to die alone.

Her anger blazed again, her roaring rage that had been quieted by exhaustion scorching suddenly, a raging inferno that burned even brighter than before. A deep growl rumbled within her chest and her fangs erupted from her gum, reaching far past her lower lips. The flat-ear glanced curiously at her.

If she was going to die, by Fen’Harel’s name she wasn’t going to be alone. Soufehla would drag all these horrid demons right across the Veil with her, even if she had to haul them one by one, screaming and kicking across into the Fade. She would throw them all into the Void. She would not die alone.

Falon’Din better be ready for her, she scowled, knowing her eyes glittered with malice. If he wanted to guide her to the Beyond, he better be ready for an entire army of demons she was going to drag down with her.

She would burn them, electrocute them, rip them to shreds with her bare hands if she had to. She would not die alone. Her lips curled over her fangs.

Varric’s warnings of red lyrium sounded somewhere to her left. Soufehla grew sick for a moment, retching as the pure _wrongness_ of red lyrium invaded her. But her blistering fury kept her on her feet, pushed her further towards the Breach.

Her party dropped down into the temple where the first Rift was. A vision played out before them all, where Soufehla watched herself disguised as a flat-ear ran into the room where the Divine was being held by a shadowy figure.

She wondered if she should be worried about why she didn’t remember any of this. But no, it did not matter. All that mattered was she would undo what has been done, take all these monsters with her to the Void.

Soufehla walked up to the Rift, tearing it open with her Mark. It spat out demons, as expected. She grinned, snarling at them and howling her battle cry. Even more demons for her to use as a stepping stone to the Beyond. How kind.

It would be her last fight. And what a grand fight it was. The pride demon that wrenched its way through the Rift was at least three times the usual size. Soufehla smiled, allowing her magic to burn away more of her mana than before. She held nothing back, attacking the demons with reckless abandon. She was going to die. She would not go meekly.

The last bit of her mana flickered and blinked out just as the pride demon was pulled back into the rift. As soon as the demons disappeared, Soufehla connected the Mark to the Breach.

The unfamiliar magic of the Mark began to hum with power, sizzling and crackling as she poured more and more of herself into it, willing it to snap close just like the other Rifts. She could feel the Mark eating at her, drawing more from her than she was able to give, but she gave it her all anyway.

And yet the Breach did not close. Snarling, Soufehla grabbed her Marked hand with her other hand, pain growing, surging forth to consume her until all she was, all she ever knew was the piercing agony in her arm. The pain was of beyond this world. Her body was being split into tiny pieces. She was melting, her lungs aching until she couldn’t breathe anymore, and her very bones were crushed and grinded under the force of the ancient magic.

She howled, a primitive screech tearing through her very core as she swore that she would close the Breach, and yell at Falon’Din for coming so late to guide her past this world. And then she would hurl the demons she had just slaughtered at the death god, just for good measures.

With a scream, Soufehla tore her arm away from the Breach, her darkening eyes seeing the Breach explode in a shower of sickly green lights. Blackness promptly pulled her down to its depth, and she was no more.

No more of lethallins who whispered foul words behind her back.

No more dark nights wondering which lethallen betrayed her five winters ago.

No more lonely nights where she lay awake, trembling, fearing the darkness that may hold hidden Templars.

No more harrowing mornings where she wake up screaming, feeling the Templars’ hands on her.

No more time spent prowling through the forest with her wolves, unable to trust her own beloved clan.

No more of angry Soufehla Adahlena Lavellan, the dreaded First of the Clan Lavellan marked by Fen’Harel. _No more_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are the screenshots annoying? I'll stop if you guys want... just let me know.
> 
> Anyways, last chapter for Wrath of Heaven quest! Comments, comments, and comments please? I want to know what you guys think. Also, if you have any questions please don't hesitate to send them my way :)


	5. Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I give you my word Cassandra, that I will stay until we close the Breach. Until then, I am with the Inquisition.”

Meet Hisul'em Mahariel Sabrae, the famed Dalish elf who became the Hero of Ferelden. He will be mentioned now and then in the story <3

Soufehla woke slowly from her sleep. She blinked carefully, staring up at a wooden ceiling that swam slowly into focus.

_She was alive._

Soufehla lay still for a while longer, uncomprehending. Why was she alive? _How_ was she still alive? She remembered the pain when she tried to close the Breach. How could she survive that? But she was alive.

Soufehla breathed deeply, flexing each of her limbs to check that they were all there and functioning properly. To her relief all her body parts seemed present for now, even the left arm that bore the Mark. If Falon’Din didn’t want to take her just yet, she wasn’t complaining. But really, how was she still alive?

Groaning with the effort, she rolled out of the bed – bed! She’s never even seen one before! – she had been stuffed into, tired and groggy. But when she heard the clatter in the room, Soufehla instantly shot to her feet, battle-ready with spells thrumming in her hands. Her eyes fell on to an elven servant quaking with fear, then to a small crate fallen on the floor. Her eyes narrowed at the flat-ear, noting her clear skin. With an annoyed hiss, Soufehla banished the lightning sparkling in her hands. She _detested_ flat-ears. Meek, submissive things that allowed shemlens to walk all over them.

“Where am I?” She snapped at the girl, watching her flinch at the tone. Truly, a stray mutt would have more back bone than these flat-ears. She wasn’t surprised when the elf practically fled the room, mumbling something about the warrior-shem wanting to know that she’s finally woken up. Soufehla slumped back onto the bed, staring down at her hand.

The Mark glowed eerily on her palm.

So, her effort at closing the Breach did not get rid of the magic on her hand. But the Mark was no longer actively killing her like it was before. At least, she assumed that was so as it no longer felt so painful. She supposed that was good enough for now. Clenching her hand into a fist Soufehla stood back up, and almost fell.

Creators, she felt as weak as a newborn – her limbs trembled with effort, her head bowed with dizziness. She had no idea how long she’s been passed out for. An hour? Maybe two? Or has it been days? How long since she’s last eaten something?

It was a long while before Soufehla could stand without feeling nauseated. Once she managed that simple task, she walked over to the end table next to the bed to examine her meager possessions that rested there. Her tiny daggers, and a change of shemlen clothes she’s brought to pass as elven servants, that was it. She picked up her daggers, inspecting it closely for signs of tampering and damage. But to her satisfaction it was as she had left them before the Conclave. She strapped them on, wondering if the return of her things meant that the warrior-shem no longer wanted to kill her outright. She then pulled on the shemlen clothes over her naked skin. Sadly, she hadn’t thought to bring her own elven clothes.

Soufehla then poked at the thick bundle that was folded neatly on the same table, and realized that it was a strange-looking light armor. She felt the fabric tentatively with questioning hands, wondering if it was meant for her. It most likely was. She shook it out, staring critically at the armor. It was clearly of shemlen-design, and she wasn’t quite sure how she was supposed to put it on.

She briefly considered putting it back down and walking out wearing just the shemlen clothes she was already wearing, but discarded the thought with a sigh. She was alone in a hostile shemlen village that wanted to execute her. Even if they didn’t want to kill her right at this moment, she could get attacked later on in the day. Grumbling, she stuffed herself into the shemlen armor, fiddling with the number of buckles and straps until it at least looked like she had it on right. She stretched and swung her arms about, testing its flexibility. It was nothing like her Dalish armor, but it would have to do for now. She tried to ignore the uncomfortable pinch around her neck.

Slinging the staff she’d looted from a corpse earlier… during the day? During the hike to the temple on to her back, Soufehla drew in one tight breath, squared her shoulders and walked out of the cabin with a cold mask resting on her face. No matter what she had to face outside of this cabin, she would do so proudly as the First of Clan Lavellan.

But the scene that greeted her left her frozen in her tracks. Hundreds of shemlens bowed down to her, or saluted her, showing her respect she’s never seen before. Especially not from _shemlens_. She hesitated by the threshold for a moment, wanting to flee back inside to the cabin. But she would not run. Soufehla clenched her jaw, and stubbornly pushed through the crowd. She ignored the shemlens as best she could, but her pointed ears easily picked up the quiet murmurs floating across the crowd. Herald. Savior. Andraste.

Thank the Creators, the shemlens did not attempt to touch her as she passed but their gazes trailed after her constantly. Soufehla quickened her pace, eager to avoid such scrutiny. She was accustomed to watching in darkness, hidden from sight. Being forced to remain in an open area with hundreds of shems watching her every move made her feel _vulnerable_. She did not like to feel vulnerable.

Soufehla discreetly checked her surroundings, but to her dismay the shemlens were still staring at her. It seemed as if the entire village was observing her while holding its breath. She hated it.

To make the matters worse Soufehla had no idea where she was supposed to go, what she was supposed to be doing. The rows upon rows of cabins twisted around like a maze, confusing her to no end. Was she supposed to talk to someone? Was she still a prisoner? Or was she free to go? Was the Breach closed successfully? Looking up at the sky, she could still see the sickly green of the Breach, though it was no longer spitting out demons continuously.

Soufehla padded along silently, doing her best to look as if she had a certain purpose while walking so no one would talk to her. She wasn’t about to ask one of these shems staring reverently at her what she was supposed to be doing. She wouldn’t. So she ambled about, trying to find the warrior-shem that’d dragged her to the temple.

She was the one person here that’d been constantly with Soufehla since she opened her eyes in the dungeons. As soon as she found the warrior-shem, she could ask her all the questions. But where was she?

Soufehla looked up to the sky to judge the time. It was early evening, perhaps around four hours past midday. What did shems do during typical evening hours? Not that there was anything typical about having a hole opening up in the sky.

She wandered around the village, somewhat succeeding to look as if she had an important business she was attending to. At least she assumed she was succeeding since no shem attempted to talk to her. While she meandered about the village, lost, she did however find a few useful things like the forge and the apothecary. So her time spent looking for the warrior-shem wasn’t a complete waste. She talked to the shemlen craftsman at the forge and the herbalist in the apothecary. And once she left the small cabin the apothecary was housed in, a familiar voice called out to her.

“Adahlena. A blessed hero sent to save us all.” The flat-ear chuckled as he noticed her and she scowled.

“I’ve no interest in being a hero, flat-ear.”

“Humble, but ultimately irrelevant.” The man smiled gently, his eyes never leaving her face. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten. Every great war has its heroes, da’lan. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

Soufehla couldn’t help but snort.

“Why would you label me as a savior, flat-ear?”

“You bear the Mark, da’lan. Only you hold the power to save us from the demon-infested world. Is it not natural for people to look to you as the savior?” He blinked, staring at her as if she was daft. But Soufehla only laughed cruelly, a harsh noise scratching at her throat.

“Say the world is ending, flat-ear. And only one person holds the power to save the world. Now consider, what if that person refuses to save the world? What if that person for some reason cannot save the world? What would the people label her then?”

The flat-ear’s eyes widened, his gentle features freezing hard at the horror she suggested.

“Do you think the world would call her a savior still? A messiah? Do not be naïve, flat-ear. They will call her the harbinger of calamity. A devil, even. So I ask again, why would you label me as a savior?”

The flat-ear stared at her mutely, his thoughtful eyes mysterious.

“I am no hero, flat-ear. Remember that the next time you explore the Fade.”

With that Soufehla stalked away from the man, her steps far heavier than before. Who was she to even consider the possibility of becoming a hero like Hisul’em Mahariel Sabrae? An elf marked by Fen’Harel – she was the furthest thing from a hero possible.

 

*******

 

Soufehla eventually managed to find her way back to the cabin she’d woken up in. And to her relief a familiar figure was standing there waiting for her.

“Are you lost?” The warrior-shem asked, her eyes much softer than before.

 _Yes_. “Don’t be foolish, shem. I wished to explore the village.” Soufehla narrowed her eyes, lying smoothly. “Or am I still your prisoner? Was I supposed to be confined to this cabin?”

The warrior-shem paused, before shaking her head.

“No, you are no longer our prisoner. The vision we’ve seen at the temple was quite clear that there was another presence there. The one actually responsible for this madness. For now you are our guest.”

Soufehla relaxed slightly, though she did not allow the shem to see that. It would not do to appear weak.

“I see.” Soufehla paused, trying to judge the woman before asking her most important question. She did not seem hostile at the moment, at least.

“Guests are free to leave as they wish. Am I free to leave?” Soufehla gazed into the shem’s eyes, watching her expression harden.

“I was coming to get you, to discuss that with us.” The warrior-shem sighed.

Of course. Soufehla hadn’t expected anything else. They weren’t going to just let her go after that disaster.

“Who’s us?” She asked.

“The… leaders of Inquisition.” The warrior-shem replied, stumbling over the title as if it was unfamiliar.

“Inquisition?”

“Yes, Inquisition.” The woman took a deep breath before continuing. “The Inquisition was a group of people who later allied with the Chantry after the First Blight-”

“Stop, shem. I have no wish to stand here and listen to your fables. Tell me what has happened since the Breach, the facts.” Soufehla snapped at her, stopping what was surely a long historical lecture on shemlen religion.

“Fables?! Would you truly mock the Maker and His followers so?” The warrior-shem shouted, her enraged voice ringing out loudly. So, a devout Andrastian then.

“Do you not think my religion as so?” She sneered.

“I do not!” The shem paused. “Not… not really. Not fully.”

Soufehla snorted. At least she was honest.

“So, Inquisition leaders?” She motioned for her to start over, which she begrudgingly complied with.

“We have formed the Inquisition, a force dedicated to closing the Breach once and for all, and to bring those that are responsible to justice. It can act while the Chantry stands in the fire and complain that it’s hot.”

“So the Breach wasn’t closed?” Soufehla groaned.

“No. Solas has said that the Breach is stable for the moment, but not fully closed. The Inquisition will attempt to close it once more.” The warrior-shem declared, almost aglow with her faith in this ‘Inquisition.’

“And if I wished to leave this Inquisition, what will you do? Will you cut off my hand with the Mark on it? Will you throw me into the dungeon once more? Drag me out once in a while to shake my hand at the Rifts?” Soufehla spat, daring the shem to disagree.

“We are not savages!” The shem flushed once more, her eyes hardening dangerously. But Soufehla continued to push.

“Oh? So what is your plan, shem? How will you close the Breach without me? Can you honestly say that you won’t imprison me once more for this Mark?”

The shem grew quiet, her eyes still simmering with anger. But she remained silent.

Of course they had no plan. There weren’t any other possible plans. Soufehla knew that already. An uncomfortable silence settled down between them, before the warrior-shem shattered it.

“My trainers always said, ‘Cassandra, you are too brash. You must think before you act.’” The warrior-shem spoke once more, surprising her.

“But I see what must be done, and I do it! I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. And I see what must be done now. I must ask you to join us, to give us one more real chance at closing the Breach. If you refuse and leave, then I will not stop you. You are not our prisoner, and I cannot force you. And if it comes to that, we _will_ find another way to close the Breach no matter how impossible it may seem. So I ask you now, will you join the Inquisition?”

Soufehla already knew her answer. There was no other choice. But the conviction in the warrior’s voice, the faith which she held onto was astounding. Soufehla found herself almost believing her words, despite knowing better. This woman, Cassandra, was truly a force of nature.

“ _You_ may not stop me, but others will. That Leliana would for certain.” She mocked her, her tone turning sarcastic. But before she could protest Soufehla pressed on. “I will join for now. It is better to join willingly than to be chained down in the dungeons again.”

Soufehla locked her gaze with Cassandra. “I give you my word Cassandra, that I will stay until we close the Breach. Until then, I am with the Inquisition.”

Cassandra gaped at her openly. Clearly, she’s been expecting a different answer.

“You were going to take me to the Inquisition leaders?” Soufehla asked, striding past her before Cassandra could see the amused smile spreading over her face. “Do lead on – let’s get this over with.”


	6. Vhellal'li Templar - Meeting with the Templar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am to trust the word of a shem? A Templar no less?”
> 
> “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very similar to original version. I'll post another chapter tomorrow since this chapter hasn't changed much :)

Hisul'em and Soufehla comparison. Why? You'll see in the chapter below :)

“Do you think lady Adahlena would agree to stay with the Inquisition?”

Cullen glanced up from the map to look at their Ambassador who’d spoken. Her eyes seemed brighter than usual, excited.

“Will she? What is she like, Leliana? Aside from the glowing Mark on her hand. I’ve heard she’s beautiful!”

“Calm down, Josie! You’ll see her in a moment. We will all find out soon enough.”

Leliana smiled amusedly at Josephine, and Cullen returned his attention to the map with a low chuckle. He supposed he was as curious as the Antivan woman was, but there was also work to be done.

Cullen sighed, rubbing at his temple in a vain attempt to relieve the headache that was starting to throb there. Three days since the opening of the Breach, and yet the desperate fights against the demons falling out of the sky had taken a severe toll on his body. He’d required far longer rest than Leliana or Cassandra after the immediate threat was addressed to return to duty, paying the delayed price for remaining on field for much longer than his mortal body was fit for. But he saved many lives by being out there, and considered it a fair trade.

Cullen felt a gaze prickling at his senses, and looked up once more to look at Leliana staring sharply at him. He saw the soft concern in her storm-grey eyes, and he gave her a tired half-smile to reassure her. He was fine, he said with that smile. Leliana considered for a moment before giving him a slight nod.

“Is she really a mage, Leliana? An apostate?” Josephine continued on, determined to get something out of their Spymaster before Cassandra and the elf walked in through the door.

“You’ve read the report, Josie! You know as much as I do.”

“Yes, but you’ve _met_ her! Leliana, please? Besides there was nothing in that report but her first name and that she was a Dalish mage. We don’t even know her clan name!”

“She’s only been awake for a few hours, and most of that time she spent it killing demons. I am sure we will learn more about her today.” Leliana patted her friend, smiling gently. “But I will say that she reminds me of Hisul’em. Their physical similarities are… remarkable.”

“She looks like the Hero of Ferelden?” He cocked his head, his mind wandering back to the handsome rogue elf he’d met briefly during the Blight. Admittedly, his memory was foggy at best regarding that time but he recalled those kind bright-purple eyes, and the jagged scar that cut over his said left eye.

“Yes, if I didn’t know for a fact that he had no family left in his Sabrae clan, I would have assumed she was his blood kin.”

Just then the door banged open to reveal Cassandra and one slender elf.

Cullen turned, eager to finally see the mysterious woman that the locales had taken to calling the Herald of Andraste.

She was not what he had expected to see. True, he could see the similarities between her and the Hero immediately as Leliana said, but still she was different somehow. The young woman standing next to Cassandra was beyond anything he’d imagined because Maker, this elf was simply _beautiful_.

He was never one for ogling, or for placing much value in physical attraction for that matter but the creature that’d walked in through the door was simply the most exquisite, lovely thing he’d ever seen. Her cheekbones were covered with lush green colored tattoos winding in a beautiful swirling pattern, and he couldn’t help the way his eyes followed the intricate lines etched onto her slightly tanned skin. She had the slight build of elves, with slender limbs and petite figure. Her hair was as black as a moonless wintery night, with light from the candles around the room making it glow as if it held sparkling starlight. It was braided tightly, swept to one side of the head and barely reaching to her shoulders. Her eyes were also black, like onyx. But unlike most dark eyes that were flat, her eyes seemed bottomless. Cullen felt as if he could fall in and never hit the bottom.

Then his eyes met hers, and noticed the violet glint in her gaze.

* * *

Soufehla scanned the room, seeing two new faces within the War Room. Leliana was standing on the far left side of the room, next to a dark-skinned shem dressed in a noble clothing that seemed remarkably fluffy. She was pretty, smiling and inclining her head towards her.

Then her eyes settled on the tall shem standing across the table from her. He took a small step back, subconsciously putting more distance between the two of them. Distance he would need if he were to unsheathe his longsword. His hands rested easily over his pommel, and yet from the relaxed lines of his body Soufehla could tell the actions he took didn’t register on his mind. Soufehla narrowed her eyes, her attention boring into this warrior-shem. Then, she felt the familiar thrum of lyrium in his blood and froze. Templar. Creators, how stupid could she be? _Of course_ it was a trap!

With a snarl, she ripped the staff from her back, her hands already crackling with familiar electricity. This Templar was experienced – it would be a difficult one to kill. But thank the Creators, the Templar had made one critical mistake. He had not attacked her the moment she walked in. He would pay for that dearly.

“Fen’harel ver na, Templar!” _Dread wolf take you!_ She shouted, loosening the bolt of lightning towards him. It would have blasted him to pieces had it landed as she intended. Instead he rolled clear of her attack, moving with blinding speed she would not have believed possible for one wearing such a heavy armor.

But her focus was forced to shift to the woman to her left. Cassandra drew her sword and shouted “Disarm, now!”

Soufehla hissed at Cassandra, backing away into the small corner of the room. Of course they would bring her to a Templar! How could she have been so fucking moronic? She’s been an idiot – trusting a shemlen even for few minutes, bah! She would _never_ make that mistake again if she lived through this ambush, though that didn’t seem too likely at the moment. But she didn’t want to die in this small room, trapped inside a Chantry. She wanted to be back in the forest.

“Did you truly think one Templar would be enough to overpower me, Cassandra? I’m _insulted_.” She sneered, measuring the gap between the woman and the door. Could she make a run for it? But that would mean leaving the Templar behind, _alive_. And Soufehla wasn’t prepared to let one live after crossing her path.

She allowed her gaze to sweep through the room again, checking for her adversaries. The dark-skinned shem cowered behind the table. Obviously she had no combative abilities. Leliana was focused, her gloved hand gripping a small dagger – though thank the Creators she did not have a bow to aim at her. Cassandra still held a blade against her – blocking the door.

“Drop your weapon now, Adahlena. Or I _will_ Silence you.” Cassandra threatened once again, and Soufehla blinked in surprise. There was no thrum of lyrium from her- Soufehla was certain. There was no way she was a Templar. And yet, Soufehla knew better than to think Cassandra made empty threats. She filed the information away for later – for now all that mattered was to kill the Templar and escape.

“Stand down, Seeker!” His sudden shout surprised them. Cassandra turned her head to look at him, though Soufehla kept her eyes focused on her sword. She’d seen the woman wield the blade before, and she wasn’t about to let it out of her sight.

“Commander, she is…”

“I mean it, Cassandra! Stand down! You too, Leliana!”

She scowled as Cassandra backed up slightly and lowered her sword. So the Templar wished to take her down himself? Very well, she would not run from such a provocation. Her magic drummed in her blood, screaming for her to release it, to hurl it at the Templar standing somewhere to the right, just to _hurt_ _him_. She needed to make him _suffer_. Too bad that she didn’t have the time to make this one die a slow agonizing death like the other ones.

Soufehla grinned savagely at Cassandra as she raised her staff. Even if she was Silenced now, she would be able to kill the Templar.

“He is not a Templar!” The scream cut through the tension suddenly, but Soufehla didn’t even spare a glance towards the noble that had spoken.

“Do not lie to me, shem. I know a Templar when I see one.” Soufehla spat. She tore her eyes off of Cassandra to look at the Templar, to sneer at him, to let him know his death was coming. But what she saw confused her enough to still her hands from releasing yet another electric bolt towards him.

The Templar had not drawn his sword. Soufehla gaped at him, the very angry Cassandra momentarily forgotten. He stood rigidly, one hand resting over the pommel of the sword still sheathed. The other was held out in front of him hesitantly, as if he was warding off her anger with his palm. As she stared at him in shock, the man began to speak. His voice was low but firm, filled with sincerity she’d never heard before.

“I _was_ a Templar, lady Adahlena.” He pronounced each word carefully, meeting her heated gaze steadily. “However, I am no longer one. I have left the Order by my own choice.”

Her confusion made her hesitate, and she instantly cursed herself knowing that she had given him the time he needed to Smite her. Soufehla waited for that dreadful pain, for that unsettling sensation of being ripped away from the Veil, but it never came. Baffled, she examined this strange shem carefully, her eyes roaming his body and realized that the armor he wore did not bear the hated symbol of the flaming sword.

“I am not here to harm you. I give you my word.” He finished with a finality in his voice. Soufehla hesitated, not quite sure what she was supposed to do. She wasn’t about to strike down an unarmed man – she would not tarnish her honor with such a deprived act. But the man was a Templar! She stood uncertainly, her bloodlust raging against her honor.

“I am to trust the word of a shem? A Templar no less?” She hissed out, narrowing her eyes to slits.

“Yes.” He replied simply.

Her hands crackled with electricity, begging to stop his heart. She yearned for him to scream, to see his sincere eyes fill with pain, knowing his death was imminent.

But he did not draw his sword.

She glanced once more at his longsword at his belt, still sheathed, and finally relented. Biting her tongue, Soufehla allowed her spell to fade away from her hands. She straightened up, lowering her staff and relaxing her attack stance. She glared at Cassandra, daring her to attack.

But Cassandra simply sheathed her own sword, scowling at her.

“You didn’t think to warn me of a Templar among the Inquisition leaders earlier? You knew I was a Dalish mage.” Soufehla spat, hoisting the staff onto her back once more.

“He’s not a Templar anymore. I did not think it was necessary.” Cassandra crossed her arms, glowering.

“Clearly you were wrong.” She snapped, her body still tense. If there was a slightest suspicious movement, she would bolt and be done with this ‘Inquisition’ madness.

The dark shem coughed lightly, regaining her composure once the weapons were put away. “Lady Adahlena, may I present Commander Cullen, _former_ Templar Knight-Captain of Kirkwall, and now leader of the Inquisition’s forces?”

Soufehla smiled toothily at the Templar still standing across the table. “A _pleasure_.” She hissed.

“I am Josephine Montilyet, ambassador and chief diplomat of the Inquisition.” She continued, electing to ignore the threat that was so thinly veiled in Soufehla’s response. “And you’ve already met lady Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, and Leliana who is our seneschal.”

“Seneschal?” Soufehla blinked, though she kept her eyes pinned on the Templar. Every lightest twitch, every flicker of motion from him made her tense, making her feet itch to run away into the deepest forest.

“My position here involves a degree of-”

“She’s our Spymaster.” Cassandra said, her blunt words making Leliana narrow her eyes.

“Yes, Cassandra. So tactfully put.” Leliana snapped, before turning back to her. “Adahlena, you said yes? Who are you? Why were you at the Conclave?”

Soufehla wondered if she should correct them all on her name. Perhaps they truly didn’t want to execute her any longer, despite the red shem’s ramblings and having a Templar Commander. But wasn’t it better to err on the side of caution?

“I am Adahlena. Just Adahlena.” She shrugged, her eyes watching him carefully. “I don’t have a clan anymore. There were too many mages in my clan, so I left. I went to the Conclave to observe it, since I was a mage and had nowhere else to go. I was curious as to how it would turn out.”

“Well, we are lucky that you decided to do so. I shudder to think what we would be doing right now if you didn’t come along with your Mark.” He shrugged lightly, though the motion made her flinch. She cursed herself for showing just how unsettled she was. She would have to do better. Seeing how he was watching her just like she was watching him, Soufehla was certain he didn’t miss that little misstep.

“How are you planning to actually close the Breach? The last try nearly killed me and yet it wasn’t enough.” She asked instead, hoping she could avoid the scrutiny. There was no way she was dragging her clan into this. She hoped Deshanna would take the clan and flee as far away from the Breach as she could once the news reached them.

Soufehla did not miss how Leliana and the Commander narrowed their eyes as she changed the topic. She would have to tread carefully during her time here.

“Solas believes that powering up your Mark with magic may successfully seal the Breach. We must approach the rebel mages for help.” Cassandra answered her, oblivious to the suspicious looks the other advisors were giving her.

“I disagree. The Templars could serve just as well! They could suppress the Breach, weaken it. Pouring magic into the Mark might destroy us all!”

“Pure speculation.”

“So is the theory about powering up the Mark! I know what Templars are capable of.”

“Enough!” Soufehla cut in, just as the advisors’ voices started to rise. She did not want to be here, caught in a middle of shemlen argument. “Why am I here?”

“Right.” The Ambassador looked over to her, her eyes speculative. “You should know that some are calling you, a Dalish elf, the Herald of Andraste. The Chantry has denounced you specifically for this reason. It frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

“I am the Herald of Andraste?” Soufehla gaped, too stunned to even remember to keep her eyes on the Templar. “ _How?_ Who? What kind of fool started that idiotic rumor?”

“The point is, everyone is talking about you. And we can use it to help us close the Breach.” Leliana’s stormy eyes sparkled, finally allowing her mouth to snap closed.

“I assume you haven’t tried to stop that particular rumor then?” She sighed.

“It’s quite the title, isn’t it? How do you feel about that?” The Templar spoke once more, immediately making her muscles stiffen. She glared at his seemingly innocent smile, trying to see the disgust and hatred he concealed so well.

“How do I feel? That is inconsequential. If it will help us close the Breach, that’s all that matters. I will allow the shems to address me so. But amongst us five, do not ever call me that. I am Adahlena, not a Herald of some shemlen prophet. I will never be a ‘Herald’, least of all for shems.” She spat, scowling. A Herald. Her! The thought was laughable.

“Was that all?”

“One more thing, Adahlena. A Chantry cleric named Mother Giselle in the Hinterlands has specifically asked to speak to you. She knows those involved in slandering the Inquisition far better than I.”

Soufehla nodded. “Understood.”

She turned and left, finally fleeing from the small room before they could say another word. She could feel the Templar’s eyes boring into her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want spoilers (not really though) regarding Hisul'em, click [here](http://robotichawk.tumblr.com/post/132150304394/new-special-oc)!


	7. Sael Falon'nere? - First Friend... Maybe?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There, there. It’ll be alright. Well, as long as you succeed the next time you try to run.”

“Adahlena!”

Soufehla turned around to find Varric standing by a small campfire, waving her over towards him as she fled out of the suppressive Chantry. She dithered for a moment or two, balanced on the balls of her feet before she relented and headed over to the dwarf with ample chest hair.

“Good to know you aren’t going to die on us after all.” He chuckled as she came closer.

“Varric,” She inclined her head warily, keeping her eyes trailed onto the crouching dwarf. She stood awkwardly next to him, not quite sure what she was supposed to do or say. Creators, it’s just been so long since she held a simple conversation that Soufehla couldn’t remember how to make small talk.

But Varric saved her from standing there silent, twitching nervously by speaking first.

“So, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you holding up all right? I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful.”

Soufehla blinked. She’d assumed Varric to start talking about what she was needed for, not… not whatever this was. Showing concern? Or was he just simply feeling out who she was?

“None of that shit should have happened. But I’ll be better once I get some food.” She muttered quietly, at which Varric sighed sadly.

“You don’t know the half of it. For days now, we’ve been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. ‘Bad for morale’ would be an understatement. I still can’t believe you were in there, and lived. A lot of good men and women didn’t make it out of there.”

Figures. To have thousands of good men and women perish atop that mountain while she survived, the accursed elf.

“Here, sit. You should eat something. You’ve been sleeping for the past three days.” Varric patted the ground next to him when she didn’t respond. With a wary glance and tightly wound movements she settled down next to him, close to the fire. The heat danced across her chapped skin, dry and welcome.

“I need to seal the Breach.” She murmured softly into the crackling flames. Varric passed her some dried and salted meat to her with a mug full of foul-smelling ale.

“If it can be sealed.” The dwarf muttered, his eyes involuntarily flickering towards the green Breach glowing eerily in the sky.

“You might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I’ve written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. Sure, I’ve seen that heroes are everywhere. But the hole in the sky? That’s beyond heroes. We’re going to need a miracle.”

Soufehla stared blankly at the simple food he’d passed her, wondering if she should test for poison. It wouldn’t be the first time someone slipped a bit of deathroot extract into her meal. But quite honestly she was too drained to bother with magic at the moment. So she tossed the bits of jerky into her mouth and chewed, washing it down with the warm ale. Despite the scrimpy state of the meal, Soufehla immediately started to feel stronger. The heat soon flushed through her, spreading out from her core to the very tips of her fingers.

Wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand, Soufehla threw a sideway glance at Varric.

“You haven’t heard? I _did_ run at the very first opportunity.”

That startled him enough to make him nearly drop his own mug of ale.

“You did? When?” He chuckled, his widened eyes roaming over her with interest.

“Right after I woke up in the dungeons. Broke a few bones before they shackled me to the floor. Then I nabbed one of the guards when they wanted to bring me to the temple. I would have made it too, if it wasn’t for this Mark on my hand trying to kill me.” She shrugged, tossing another bit of jerky into her mouth. It was… strange to be talking with Varric. She quite liked it, for some incomprehensible reason.

“Really? I would’ve paid good coin to see that. Bet Cassandra wasn’t too happy about it.” Varric mused, refilling her mug.

“I’m surprised you didn’t hear, Varric. The tale of a savage knife-ear nearly strangling a shemlen guard would have spread like wildfire.”

“It probably got buried under the tales of the holy Herald of Andraste sent to save the world that’s drowning the village right now.” He chuckled making Soufehla groan out loud mid-chew, the stiff jerky caught between her canines which had shrunk back to their normal sizes. That made Varric just laugh harder.

“Why?” She moaned, closing her eyes and dropping her head into her hands. “Just, why?” She wasn’t even sure what she was asking about, but the dwarf seemed to understand.

“There, there. It’ll be alright. Well, as long as you succeed the next time you try to run.” Varric patted her sympathetically, and Soufehla groaned again, deeper this time and full of mock (but not quite fully) frustrations.

But she stayed there by the fire with Varric for a few hours, watching the firewood crack and pop, eating some dry meet and asking Varric of the red lyrium, his occupation, and the time he spent in Kirkwall with the Champion. Soufehla even found out that the dwarf was an author, and borrowed his most infamous novel ‘Champion of Kirkwall’ from him to read at a later date.

She stayed until the loud creaking groan of the thick wooden door signaled the ending of a war meeting the leaders of Inquisition had been engrossed in. Soufehla lifted her head to find the leaders leaving through the Chantry door, her eyes fixed onto the spiteful Templar trudging wearily through the snow. She felt the acidic burn of her rage flush through once more at the sight, wanted nothing but to tear him to shreds. But Varric called out to her worriedly, and Soufehla shook her head to clear the crimson haze from her vision.

“I have some things to ask Leliana.” She mumbled to him, excusing herself before he could ask about her sudden change in mood and deftly jumped up the tall ledge they were using to block the icy wind cutting deep past their clothes. She padded over to the pitched tent where the redheaded woman was dealing with a scout.

* * *

Leliana bit inside her mouth, feeling the pain spread from her cheek. Of course that did not help in the least bit with the trouble she had to deal with now.

“You know what must be done. Make it clean. Painless, if you can. We were friends once.” She hissed at her scout, her own words hanging about in the air. Friends. As if such a thing existed for her in this shadowy world she walked. Aside from Hisul’em, none could ever be trusted.

“You would give him a clean death?” An angry growl sounded, and Leliana whirled around to find Adahlena leaning against a post. Her steely eyes were narrowed, her lips curled over her long canines. Canines that were almost long enough to be called fangs, she thought.

“You are a merciful woman, Leliana.” She sneered at her while her scout bowed to them both and left her tent.

Leliana watched the elf carefully. She’d not heard the woman approach at all. She’d never known anyone who’d been capable of surprising her – not even Hisul’em, a skilled Dalish Hunter whom she trusted implicitly hadn’t ever managed that feat. This woman moved as if she was a whisper of death.

“Merciful? You jest, surely?” She smiled at such a notion. Her? Merciful? When was the last time she’d been _merciful?_

“I have no tolerance for traitors.” She spat. “Make an example of this one, and others will not turn against you. I’d have ordered him to be burned at a stake.”

It was a strange feeling, she thought, to see an elf who looked so similar to Hisul’em say such angry words. Leliana knew she was comparing Adahlena to her friend so often due to their inexplicable similarities in physical features, and yet couldn’t shake the uneasy feelings fluttering around the very corners of her mind.

“You take a harsh view, Adahlena. But I suppose that is the way in these troubled times.” She mused, but Adahlena simply snorted.

“I take a _practical_ view. Be lenient with one, and the others will not rest until ravens are pecking at your rotting corpse. But enough, you said I was needed in Hinterlands?”

Indeed. She may look like Hisul’em, but her personalities were completely opposite of her dear friend’s gentle nature.

“Do you know the Hero of Ferelden?” Leliana blurted out, her eyes watching for the lightest hints of reaction. But Adahlena simply blinked curiously, cocking her head at Leliana’s completely unexpected question.

“No. I’ve never met him.” Adahlena smiled coldly. “Are you the Leliana who’s traveled with him during the Blight?”

“You’ve heard of me?”

“My clan’s kept close track of shemlen activities. Even those clans that didn’t has heard of the famed Hero, and nearly burst with pride when the word reached us that one of our own was revered so by shemlens. I’d wondered, but hadn’t realized that you were _that_ Leliana.” She grinned toothily at her, and Leliana cursed herself. She’d lost this wager – she’d just given Adahlena much more information about her than she’d learned about the elf.

“Would it have changed anything?” She asked instead, hoping for any sort of information on this mysterious woman. So far her scouts had turned up nothing useful regarding this Mage.

“I may have been more cooperative, had I believed you were the Hero’s companion. I certainly wouldn’t have tried to run.” Adahlena shrugged. “But why do you ask? Surely you don’t think all Dalish elves have met the Hero?”

“He is always in my thoughts. And you look remarkably like him. I’d wondered if you were related to him somehow.”

And that did get a reaction out of her. A genuine look of shock flashed across the elven eyes before Adahlena’s icy mask smoothed out her face.

“I did not realize.” She muttered, and Leliana turned around to face the maps littered over her table. As fascinating as this little mystery was, she’d wasted enough time. There were more critical matters for both of them to attend to.

“No, of course not. But come, we’ve dawdled enough, no? I’ll show you what we know of Hinterlands and Mother Giselle. You must get to her with all haste.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments~ <3


	8. Hinterlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did anybody bear to live in a region that was so… so… wet? And cold?

Soufehla as a wolf!

\

_Sister, Ambassador, Commander_

_We have arrived at the Hinterlands and have made contact with Mother Giselle as planned at the crossroads. She was tending to the refugees when we arrived. While I am happy to say that getting Adahlena to talk to Mother Giselle hasn’t been difficult, I must point out that the entire area is terribly unsteady, and in far worse situation than we have surmised earlier._

_The war between the mages and templars ranges far and wide. Both sides seem to have lost their minds; they attack anything and anyone on sight. When we arrived at the crossroads, the Inquisition scouts were engaging them in open skirmish in order to protect the refugees. I daresay there would have been heavy losses if Adahlena had not intervened._

_Adahlena has stayed true to her word. She does not openly reject the people labeling her as the Herald of Andraste, but should anybody within her party such as myself or Solas attempt to refer to her using that title she gets very angry. And her rage is very impressive. We have all quickly learned to refer to her as nothing but Adahlena as she insists. Except Varric. Of course, he has given her a nickname._

_I have some concerns regarding Adahlena. She is quiet and withdrawn, and does not seem happy to be staying with the Inquisition. So far she has taken it upon herself to help the refugees by hunting wild rams and finding blankets and such despite the obvious hostility she feels towards the humans. I can see in her eyes that she truly does not wish to be here._

_She also often disappears into the surrounding forest at nights. I have attempted to follow her, but she does not leave behind even footprints. I do not understand how she manages to move without leaving behind any tracks, but she does. I have confronted her, tried to reason with her, and even argued with her. I told her that it was dangerous and foolhardy and that she should stop wandering from the camp by herself. Her resistance grew to a point where she threatened to freeze my arms off. I have failed to pressure her further after that point._

_Another matter regarding Adahlena. She is a surprisingly competent combat mage. I had suspected on our way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes that she was a powerful mage, skilled for certain, but only in Hinterlands did I realize the full extent of her abilities. And it worries me. A Dalish elf that supposedly has only recently split from her clan should not have this much experience in combat, even if it is wartime. I believe that she is concealing something from us. We need more information on her. The way she kills off the templars we encounter is uncanny and deadly. She annihilates most of them by herself before the rest of us even realize that there are templars trying to attack us. I see a wicked joy in her eyes when finishes them off. I have also noticed that she never gives them a clean death._

_Lastly, we are on our way to meet up with the horse master Dennet as the Commander has requested. We shall return once the mounts for the Inquisition has been acquired and make a full report then._

_Seeker_

* * *

“Cassandra’s noticed, it means there’s no doubt about it. Adahlena is hiding something from us.” Leliana placed the report down on the war table. Cullen sighed and rubbed his neck. This topic was beginning to get tiresome.

“Have you had any luck finding out more about her?” Josephine cocked her head, asking curiously at which Leliana hissed in frustration.

“I’ve sent inquiries to Sabrae clan, but as expected Hisul’em doesn’t have any blood kin. They also don’t know of any Dalish elf who looks just like him. I haven’t found a single useful information regarding ‘Adahlena’. I’m beginning to think she didn’t even give us her true name. If only I can find her Dalish clan…”

“She really could have been at the Conclave to observe the proceedings. She is a Mage. It makes perfect sense for her to do so.” Josephine tried to reason with her, but she shook her head wordlessly.

“If she wanted only to observe, she would not have snuck in so deeply into the Conclave Ambassador.” He sighed, shifting his eyes over the Antivan woman. “She would have stayed afar as Solas did. The fact that she infiltrated all the way into the meeting suggests that she was spying for someone.”

Josephine nodded her understanding, and he turned back to face Leliana.

“Even so, why does it matter? She’s agreed to stay and help. In due time she will trust us enough to tell us the truth. Digging into her history will only make her more wary of us.”

“But it’s been weeks, Commander! Weeks! And my agents have been unable to find anything of note. It’s as if she’s appeared out of thin air. She is our only means of closing the Rifts. We need to know everything there is to know about her!”

He shook his head. He did not agree with her, but knew Leliana wasn’t about to give up.

“She seemed hostile towards humans, especially Templars. Maybe her clan’s had an unsavory clash with Templars a few years back?” Josephine suggested carefully, though Leliana only shook her head in frustration.

“I’ve searched for the records, Josie! You won’t believe how many Dalish clans have had ‘unsavory clash’ with humans. It’s impossible to figure it out through that way. She must have been lying from the very moment she woke up to keep herself shrouded so well. She’s a very skilled agent to be certain. I just wish we were able to trust her.”

“I still think we should just leave her alone. She’ll come around once she realize we really do not mean to harm her.” He grumbled.

“But how long will that take? She is a very suspicious person, Commander. What if she suddenly leaves one day? Cassandra says there’s no way she could be tracked. If she leaves right now, the Inquisition will fail even before we really began. We _must_ know more! She has too many secrets. You must wish to know as well, Commander.”

“I _would_ like to know how exactly she found out I was a Templar.” He muttered, his mind flitting back to their first meeting in this very same room. “People usually know by my reputation – but she didn’t. She shouldn’t have known that I was a Templar.”

“Perhaps it’s the way you stand? Your sword?” Josephine suggested lightly, though he shook his head.

“No, any trained warrior would trip her off then. She didn’t react to Cassandra, despite her being a Seeker. She specifically knew I was a Templar without a doubt.”

“Perhaps it’s the lyrium, Commander. That’s the difference between the Seeker and you, yes? Perhaps Adahlena can sense the lyrium Templars take.” Leliana spoke.

“Sense the lyrium in me? I’ve only ever known one Mage who was capable of doing that.” He shook his head. The idea was ludicrous. No one was that sensitive to lyrium.

“One Mage? So it isn’t impossible?” Leliana pressed harder.

“It is… highly improbable.” He replied. Unbidden, his thoughts turned to the emerald-eyed Mage he’d watched over a decade ago.

Neria Surana. His charge, Mage Surana. Confident, strong-willed Mage Surana. She’d sensed his lyrium, sensed him under the identical Templar helms. Only her. She was special, in so many ways. She always smiled gently at him whenever he was around, laughed beautifully when their lips drew close in a secret kiss.

And then he’d cut her down with his sword, dyeing her stunning blond hair crimson with blood.

He clenched his teeth, wrenching his thoughts back to present.

“But no, I suppose it’s not impossible.” He gritted out.

Leliana’s eyes darkened, noticing the change within him. However the door banged open just then, saving him from her piercing gaze. A messenger rushed in through the open door; one of Josephine’s people.

“What is it?” Josephine asked curiously.

“Sorry for the interruption, sers! But it’s a correspondence from a Dalish clan.” The man held out a thin parchment.

“What? Let me see!” Leliana snatched the letter out of the man’s hand, quickly breaking the seal. He sometimes wondered if she was addicted to gathering information.

Leliana began to read the letter out loud after dismissing the messenger.

“ _Clan Lavellan offers greetings to the Inquisition and wishes it well in sealing the Breach that has opened in the sky. While some Dalish clans hate humans and wish nothing to do with them, Clan Lavellan has always dealt fairly with all and wished only for peace. That said, we have on occasion been forced to defend ourselves from those who saw us only as potential victims._

_It has come to our attention that a member of our clan is being held captive by your Inquisition. She went to the Conclave only to observe the peace talks between your mages and templars, and we find it highly unlikely that she intentionally violated your customs. We would appreciate hearing exactly what crime she has be charged with, as we cannot imagine her remaining with the Inquisition of her own free will._

_We await your reply,_

_Keeper Istimaethorial Lavellan_ ”

She lifted her head from the parchment, her eyes shimmering with excitement.

“Do we have any Dalish elves besides her amongst Inquisition, Commander?” She asked carefully, which he answered with a shake of his head.

“Then this is it? Lady Adahlena’s clan? So she didn’t leave her clan after all?” Josephine shook her head.

“She did everything perfectly. If it wasn’t for her clan seeking her out, we would never have been able to find them. A shame, really. This Keeper of hers doesn’t really realize what a great agent she is.” Leliana tapped her chin thoughtfully, staring at the parchment. “But with this, I can find out so much more about her.”

“We should tell her that her clan has sent inquiries about her.” He sighed.

“But-”

“It’s her clan, Leliana. Maker’s breath, think for a moment! Lavellan’s been tossed out from the Breach with the Mark in to a group of strange humans who either wants to execute her, worship her, or asks her to save the world. She has not one familiar face here. Let her know that her clan’s asking after her.”

She pursed her lips, but nodded.

“I suspect they’ll return in a few days. You can inform her then.” She relented.

“I’m sure mistress Lavellan would be most pleased to hear of her clan.” Josephine smiled.

* * *

Soufehla once again melted off into the darkness cast by the trees after her little group made camp for the night. She smirked as she stepped lightly, amused that Cassandra would even attempt to follow her in a forest. That woman truly did not understand what being Dalish meant. If she did, Cassandra wouldn’t even contemplate the idea of being able to tail her.

And Soufehla was the best Hunter within her clan, better than any of her lethallins. Especially with her shifting abilities. Without breaking her stride, Soufehla smoothly shifted into a wolf. No one was ever able to track her, especially not in forests. Here, she belonged. With the tall trees casting shadows over her and soft grass whispering beneath her paws, Soufehla was finally at ease. She padded away into the wild forest, relieved of the quiet calm it offered. These woods were foreign to her, but still it was better than sitting around a campfire with other shemlens constantly whispering either ‘Herald’ or ‘knife-ear’. Damned shemlens. They couldn’t even whisper properly.

She sniffed the air carefully and scented a ram. She swiveled her massive head around, following her nose. Sure enough her eyes soon spotted a great-horned beast grazing.

Soufehla crouched low to the ground, creeping closer towards the ram from downwind. She was starting to get used to hunting without her pack fairly well. The ram did not notice her until she reached the underbrush directly besides it.

Without a thought she pounced silently. Her powerful haunches easily propelled her into the air, canine muscles rolling and flexing under her thick coat of black fur that glistened under the moonlight. She landed atop the ram, and felt one of its legs snap under her heavy weight of muscles. It fell with a keening scream, which she cut off by biting its neck with her razor-sharp fangs. It bucked and shook, trying to shake her off but Soufehla wrenched her head, twisting the ram’s neck and snapped its spine. The beast ceased its struggle, and she released the crushing bite on its neck with a silent prayer of thanks to Andruil for the easy and bountiful hunt.

Soufehla would butcher the ram for its meat and leather later. The shemlens back at the crossroads were in dire need of it. She grunted in annoyance, wondering why she decided to agree to help the shemlens hunt for food. Not that it was difficult – this was already the ninth ram she’d hunted on her own. Placing her paws over her spoil, she settled on her haunches and quietly stared into the darkness.

Her mind wandered over the past few weeks she’s spent with the Inquisition, her long list of information she’s compiled since the Conclave unfolding. She yawned, her wolven snout stretching wide, long flat tongue rolling out. The list needed a sorting through it was long overdue. Soufehla supposed now was as good a time as any.

She’d been in the Hinterlands for just over a week now. This part of Ferelden was at least less snowy than Haven was. But frigid wind cut deep into her flesh regardless of lack of said devilish snow. How did anybody bear to live in a region that was so… so… wet? And cold? Creators, she felt like her hands were going to freeze off all the time. The only time she didn’t feel chilled to her bones were when she was in her wolf form, though considering that she couldn’t show anybody that form the time she could spend as a wolf was severely limited.

That was just going to be perfect though, wasn’t it? For her Marked hand to freeze and break off from her. She snorted, a puff of heated air visible as it came out of her long furry nose. She wondered if the Mark would still work if it was cut off from her. If not, well, that would be one hilarious way for the world to die. Because her hand fell off due to frostbite. An amused whine escaped her throat.

Right, back to more productive thoughts. Soufehla had met the Chantry mother. She made her uncomfortable – the woman seemed dedicated to aiding the others, but her shemlen religious nature irked her. She didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of meeting the woman again at Haven, but then again Soufehla supposed having one more annoying shem in a village full of annoying shems did not matter.

But a mildly annoying shem like Mother Giselle was nothing compared to the Mages and Templars she’s been encountering throughout this entire region. Her lips drew over her razor sharp fangs, an angry growl beginning to rumble deep in her chest. Disgraceful bastards were killing anything on sight, slaughtering helpless refugees with no better excuse than ‘thought they had a staff’. Even _she_ didn’t attack helpless and unarmed shemlens, as disgusting as they were. This war was madness. There was no honor here, only mindless massacre. Pointless blood drenching the earth. She despised it, though she was far from surprised. What else could she possibly expect from those that called themselves Templars, and Mages that had cowered till now under the rule of the hideous Order and the Chantry?

Soufehla shifted slightly, her tail thumping hard onto the floor. The only thing good about the war was that there were Templars everywhere. So many Templars she could rip to shreds. She’d been slaughtering them by the dozens daily. Never before had she been so lucky. She grinned fiercely, her lips curling savagely. She ripped them apart bit by bit, and no one even bothered to question her. It was, of course, ‘self-defense’. They always attacked first.

It was a satisfying enough compensation for being with the Inquisition, though Soufehla possibly couldn’t leave even if there weren’t Templars for her to kill here. Her Oath shackled her, prevented her from flying back to her clan. No matter how desperately she yearned to ride the swift wind, feeling the powerful gusts beneath her wings, Soufehla was bound to the Inquisition. If it wasn’t for her honor, she’d have flown back to the Free Marches long ago.

Soufehla whined softly, settling her heavy jaw over her forepaws. She had given her word to Cassandra that she would stay till the Breach was closed. Creators, she knew it was what was needed but she wished she hadn’t sometimes. She wished that she could ignore the giant sickly green tear up in the sky – but of course that was impossible.

Cassandra. Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. She was a fearsome warrior, faithful and passionate almost to fault. She was unlike any of the shemlens she’s met so far. Soufehla still hadn’t figured out exactly how Cassandra was able to cast Silence and Smite like a Templar, though she’s plenty of proof since they entered Hinterlands that she indeed did possess all of the Templar abilities. She wondered for a moment longer, then decided to broach the subject once they safely returned to Haven. There was no way she was going to be able to figure it out while sitting alone out in a forest.

Her thoughts soon traveled to her other party members. Varric Tethras. A durgen’len, but a child of the Stone that was unlike any of the few burly, hairy folk she’d met before. Soufehla cocked her head and let out a low chuckle as she thought of the delightfully cunning durgen’len. Varric was funny, witty, and so far more considerate than anybody within the Inquisition. He asked after her welfare, actually concerned for her sake unlike many others. It was downright odd to have someone worry about her, making certain she was well-cared for. And yet he didn’t bother her, mixing just enough joke and smart comments to keep her comfortable. A sly one to be sure, but she was glad nonetheless that this particular durgen’len insisted on staying with her party.

Solas. She shook her body roughly, shaking out her thick pelt with a grumble. That flat-ear was downright infuriating sometimes. When they’d first met, Soufehla had immediately felt connected to him somehow, an inexplicable tug pulling her towards him. That sensation still hadn’t faded away. In fact, it was so strong that there was no mistaking it now. But the man was aggravating! He sneered at anything and everything that was even remotely of Dalish, and they fought bitterly over his disdainful attitude of elves.

And yet she did not hate him. He was smart, collected, calm, and polite. He knew of things she had never even dreamed of before, learning incredible amounts of knowledge in the Fade. She begrudgingly acknowledged that he deserved her respect, at least enough to keep quiet about his strange name. But Soufehla was no closer to understanding the peculiar link between them.

She mulled it over for a few moments longer, before abandoning her thoughts. Again, she wasn’t going to figure it out sitting here alone. Instead she thought of the leaders of the Inquisition.

Leliana. The redheaded woman was frighteningly similar to herself. She was brutally efficient, deadly and undoubtedly skilled. They thought alike. She trusted her to keep the Inquisition, the fledgling organization safe. Soufehla had instantly liked the redheaded rogue. She was a dangerous woman.

Josephine. The Antivan woman was sweet, even to her. Sweetest person she’s ever met, for certain. That noblewoman was everything a perfect ambassador should be. She handled the ridiculous nobles well, and navigated the tricky diplomatic situations with fluid grace. She’d seen the way Josephine had handled the Marquis DuRellion when the nobleman had wanted to kick Inquisition out of Haven. A great asset to the Inquisition, without a doubt.

Then her thoughts settled on the Inquisition’s Commander. A howl ripped itself free from her chest, her hackles rising. Surprised bird flock flew away, chittering nervously. Her claws dug in deep into the soft earth, leaving deep gashes there. A Templar. A Templar she’d let live.

She snarled, ripping the ground apart with her claws. A Templar. An _ex_ -Templar, he’d stressed himself in the war room. She barked, a sarcastic laugh escaping her. His mannerism practically screamed Templar. She’d felt the lyrium coursing through his blood. He was a Templar, no matter what he claimed.

Soufehla had done her best to avoid the man since their first meeting. She did not know if she had enough restraint not to kill him. She let loose another bloodcurdling howl, dripping with lust for his death.

And yet, she knew she could not kill him. Not if she wanted the Breach closed. She growled, rumbling deep. No, she couldn’t kill the Commander for her personal satisfaction no matter how desperately she needed to see him bleed. No, there was just no way killing him could end well for her.

She sat up, her agitated tail swishing back and forth. She couldn’t kill him. She wouldn’t kill him. She shouldn’t kill him. She chanted in her mind, willing herself to believe the words.

Perhaps speaking to the Templar would cool the anger boiling within her long enough to close the Breach without an incident. Or she could possibly snap and burn him to death. That was definitely possible.

She prayed to Mythal for the strength resist the bloodlust that ached deep in her soul.


	9. Sael Dirth'sulan'i Templar - First Conversation With The Templar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I have given you my word, and I have no intentions of breaking it."

Soufehla while she's in her eagle mode~ (Look at those talons! X_x)

Cullen watched the two women out of the corner of his eyes. Of course, he was paying almost full attention to the soldiers training right in front of him – he was the Commander, it wouldn’t be right for him to be distracted. But the conversation Lavellan and Cassandra were engrossed in floated over to where he stood rather easily despite the loud clashing practice swords he was surrounded by.

Lavellan had been roped into a war meeting nearly the moment she’d returned from the Hinterlands. Despite looking haggard the woman stood perfectly still and suffered through the never-ceasing arguments for hours without even a hint of weariness or discomfort, her mouth clamped shut and black eyes gleaming with focus. She listened quietly as Cassandra made the full report of their excursions at Hinterlands, and looked unimpressed when they decided to send her to Val Royeaux in a week’s time. She only ever spoke when she was directly questioned, though from the way her attention never wavered even for a second he knew she was gathering information on them just as they were on her. She was probably having more luck than they were, considering the way Leliana’s stormy eyes darkened.

He wondered what she thought of the Inquisition so far. Did she deem it somewhat more trustworthy?

A recruit three rows over to his right stumbled, getting whacked soundly by a practice sword his opponent held.

“You there! There’s a shield in your hand. Block with it. If this man were your enemy, you would be dead.” He barked at the recruit, suppressing the barest hint of annoyance. Maker, he knew they were no more than farmers and villagers who’s never held a sword in their entire lives, but after eleven years of being a part of one of Thedas’ best Order of warriors, he couldn’t help but feel frustrated at the little headway they were making.

“Yes, ser!” The man picked himself right back up and returned to the training. At least the soldiers were enthusiastic about their cause. He hoped that it would speed up the process of training at least somewhat. They needed all the help they could get.

“Lieutenant, don’t hold back. The recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one.” The templar saluted before wading into the thick bustle of sweating men, soon barking out instructions and fixing their amateur forms. They had a long way to go.

“Tell me one thing, Adahlena. Do you believe in the Maker?” Seeker’s voice buzzed in between the clangs, and he turned to look at the two women still talking. Lavellan had been questioning the woman about her family in Nevarra, her time as the Right Hand of the Divine, and her Seeker abilities a moment ago – he was surprised to hear the topic change so abruptly to the Chantry and the Maker.

“I am Dalish, Cassandra. I believe in our own gods.” Lavellan crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly looking overtly defensive.

“There’s no room among your gods for one more?” Cassandra pressed, her eyes seemingly lost. Cursing inwardly, Cullen started to force his way towards the two woman through the thick bundle of training soldiers.

“There clearly isn’t a room next to your Maker for my gods!” Lavellan spat at Cassandra, her voice turning vicious. The two woman glared at each other, fists clenched tightly by their sides.

“Seeker, would you mind overlooking the troop trainings for a moment?” He broke through the final line of his soldiers, half rushing up to the women before the faithful could see the Herald and the Seeker arguing out in the open. “I have some matters to discuss with lady Adahlena.”

Cassandra glared at Lavellan for a moment longer before nodding curtly and stomping away. He winced as she unsheathed her sword and started to shout out orders at his men – they were most likely going to get quite a number of bruises today.

But his attention was soon focused onto the elven woman, whose eyes were now simply blazing with untold hatred and fury. Her hostility was impressive – even the Mages back at Kirkwall hadn’t looked to him with such open disdain.

“Templar. Or was it Knight-Captain?” She sneered, every muscle rigid with tension.

“That is not my title.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You lie.”

“My claim is truer than yours, _Lavellan._ ” He shot back, though his words lacked the abrasive thorns her voice held. Regardless, the woman wheeled back as if she’d been slapped. Her black eyes widened incredulously, and once again he saw the hint of amethyst sparkling in the sunlight. So he hadn’t imagined it before – she _did_ have specks of violet in her irises.

She was silent for a moment longer before she visibly gathered herself to speak.

“Seems Leliana is far more skilled than I had anticipated.”

Cullen pulled the thin letter from her Dalish clan out of his furred cloak, and held it out for her to take it. “No, you’ve judged her correctly I imagine. Without this, we would never have found out.”

She glared at him for a beat, and he could see her debating whether or not to leave the parchment in his hands. But soon her curiosity won over her caution and she stepped closer to grab it, though she took care not to touch his gloved fingers.

He sighed inwardly.

Lavellan scanned the short note quickly, then raised her eyes with an angry growl. He watched her as she seemed to wrestle with herself before pocketing the small parchment.

“So,” she intoned, her eyes no longer blazing out as much as before. But he could still see the rage lurking inside her.

“So,” He crossed his arms, cocking his head. “Lavellan. Clearly, you’ve been lying.”

She bared her teeth at him, her exceptionally long canines catching the glinting sunlight. This time, he sighed out loud.

“Lavellan, I understand that you had little cause to trust us when we first asked you to join the Inquisition. I – we – realize that you only wished to protect your clan from this madness the world is thrown in. But you must understand that I have no qualms with you. I do not wish to antagonize you, contrary to what you believe. To me, it matters not that you were a Dalish Mage. Whatever you were before, whatever I was before, we are now all part of the Inquisition. I apologize for failing to warn you before our first meeting of my previous occupation, but once again I am not here to harm you. I have given you my word, and I have no intentions of breaking it.”

He waited for her to respond, watching her eyes flicker suspiciously towards his pommel before flitting back to his face. He tried to fight off the urge to blush under her relentless scrutiny, feeling her gaze inspecting every last inch of him.

Finally she cocked her head and shifted her weight, her muscles relaxing a little. She was still tense, but no longer blatantly so.

“I am First to Clan Lavellan, Commander.” She spoke quietly, her voice no longer as biting as before though it still held a steely edge. “That is what I was, and that is what I remain as. I will apologize for the deception. I believed it to be necessary, though now I realize that perhaps the caution was not needed. As I have told Cassandra, I shall stay until the Breach is closed.”

She paused, and Cullen watched as she struggled with herself once more. He stayed silent as she grimaced before her face smoothed out once more, her elven eyes shrouding her thoughts in mystery.

“And I will not harm you as long as you keep your word.”

* * *

Soufehla gritted her teeth as she spit the words out, wondering if she was truly swearing not to harm this Templar. Commander. Whichever it was.

But if she was to successfully close the Breach in the sky, she could not kill him. And the only thing that could potentially reign in her murderous rage against the Templars was her honor. Perhaps giving him her word would be enough to keep herself in check until the sky was mended. She sent up a silent prayer to Mythal, asking for the strength to resist the luring call of his lyrium-infused blood.

The Templar cleared his throat nervously, pulling her out of her reverie.

“I, ah… there’s still a lot of work ahead.” He stumbled over his words a little, finally looking away from her and rubbing at his neck. Just then a messenger cut in between them with a report clutched in his hand, rescuing them both from the awkward tension.

“Commander! Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines.”

The Templar turned towards the man immediately, his eyes quickly scanning through reports though not before he threw her a crooked grin and a simple “As I was saying.”

She watched him go, unable to fully relax until he was well out of her strong elven eyesight. She let out a small sigh of relief, her muscles turning lax as she turned to pad towards her small cabin to write a quick note for Leliana. She’d been ecstatic to find out that the meeting at Val Royeaux was to be held in a week’s time, giving her a much needed time for herself.

She walked into the small wooden cabin that’s been assigned to her, closing the door gingerly behind herself. She pushed out with her magic to assure herself that no one was indeed hiding inside, or pressed up against the windows for that matter. Once Soufehla was satisfied that she was alone, she padded over to the small end table and picked up the quill there. She chewed the tip lightly before wetting the quill with ink and started to write.

_Leaders of the Inquisition_

_I have not fled._

_I do, however, have matters of personal nature that must be taken care of. Considering that my head just might roll on the cobbled streets of Val Royeaux in a week, I have decided to risk taking the time for myself._

_Do not fear – I shall return before we are set to depart for Val Royeaux. You have my word._

_Leliana, do not bother sending your scouts after me. They will lose the trail as soon as they enter the forest. I’m certain there are better things for them to do than to scramble about lost in a forest._

_Adahlena Lavellan_

There. That should be enough to stop the shems from falling into mass-panic while she was gone. She waved her hand over the thin parchment, aglow with a fire spell. The wet ink dried instantly and she folded up the tiny note neatly. Leliana’s spies would no doubt discover it and deliver it to the advisors.

With that, Soufehla stripped out of the tight, pinching, bulky, and downright uncomfortable shemlen armor. Creators! It felt so freeing to finally shed that dreadful gear! With a disgusted huff, she folded the armor and laid it beside the note on the table, and then leaned the staff she had looted next to it as well. She would get a much better one soon enough.

Satisfied that no one could see her, Soufehla pushed the window and dropped lightly outside her cabin. Not a whisper of noise betrayed her presence, and she padded silently into the forest surrounding the village. Not one shemlen noticed her disappearance, of course.

Once she was safe within the deep shadows underneath the evergreen trees, Soufehla leaped high into the air.

Before she could fall back onto the earth, her lips elongated into hard yellow beak. Feathers erupted all over her skin, and talons tore through where her toenails once grew. Her outstretched arms were now great, powerful black wings that spanned over six feet which easily caught the frosty winter wind that blew over Haven. With a whoosh, Soufehla was already high above the treetops speeding towards the North.

It was high time she had a talk with Deshanna.


	10. Vegaral Ma Lethallens - Return to My Lethallens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fen’Harel’s caught your scent, dhar. Do not bring him to the clan with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All elvhen credits to FenxShiral
> 
> dhar: dog  
> Sael: First  
> Tael: Second  
> Amelan: Keeper  
> da'assan: little arrow. term of endearment  
> da: little/young  
> fenlin: wolfling  
> eolas’esayelan: apprentice  
> seth'lin: literally= thin blood. Means flat-ear. Taken from da wikia page.  
> Aravel: A wagon used by the Dalish; also a physical and spiritual path, a journey with purpose. Humans call them "landships." Taken from da wikia page.
> 
> lethallen is canon and multi-gender - lethallan is female, and lethallin is male of the same word.  
> 

One of the wolves from Soufehla's pack <3

Cool winter winds blew underneath her outstretched wings as Soufehla soared high above in the sky. She beat her wings, relishing the powerful gusts brushing past her ebony feathers. It was as if Andruil herself favored her upon this journey back to her clan – the strong currents blew northwards, directly to the Free Marches. At this rate Soufehla would arrive at her clan’s camping grounds much earlier than she’d expected.

The wind blew stronger, sending her hurtling through the air and Soufehla twisted her tail to control the direction of her flight path. When she’d first shifted it had taken her weeks of practice to learn how to fly. Now – now flying required barely a conscious thought on her part.

But after the incident in the woods five winters ago with the Templars, Soufehla had kept her shifting ability a secret with fervor, allowing only her Keeper Deshanna to know of her special magic. It was the reason Deshanna had sent her to the Conclave to spy – there was no one better than her for such tasks.

A familiar screech pulled her eagle eyes towards the low treetops where a few more eagles circled. Her eyesight, which was strong due to her elven blood was even stronger now as an eagle and easily allowed her to see the familiar hunting eagles that her clan treasured. She folded her wings in tight against her body and dove, the air whistling past her. The ground hurtled towards her at an alarming rate but at the very last second Soufehla snapped her wings out, pulling out of the dive with a graceful sweep. She shifted back to her real form mid-air and landed in a light crouch on the grassy forest ground.

The chorus of eagles cawed above her, welcoming her back. It was a long time before she broke through the undergrowth surrounding the campsite as she landed far away from the clan as usual to protect her secret of shifting abilities. She smiled softly before padding towards the aravels pitched in a somewhat larger clearing. Creators, it’s been so long since she last saw her clan! It felt as if an entire lifetime had passed by since she’d last laid her eyes on it. It was truly wonderful to gaze at the aravels and hallas, to see her lethallens sitting by the fire and sharing food once again.

A familiar footsteps sounded behind her, and Soufehla sighed.

“Dread Wolf’s bitch. Weren’t you captured by shems?” A crude voice sneered, and Soufehla turned around to find Haril scowling at her as expected.

“Savhalla, Haril. Thu ea?” _Hello, Haril. How are you?_

Soufehla slipped into elvhen effortlessly, the graceful tongue rolling naturally out of her lips. Her clan only spoke in elvhen, with few Traders and herself being the exception.

“I was well until I saw your face, Fen’Harel’dhar.” _Fen’Harel’s dog_. The man spat at her feet.

“Did you truly think I’d meekly stay captured by shems, Haril? You must know better than that.”

“I’d hoped the shemlen would slit your throat. Shame they didn’t. But how’d you get here so swiftly, Fen’Harel girem’lan? _Fen’Harel’s slave?_ You were in Ferelden last we heard.”

“There is this thing called magic, Haril. And just so it happens, I am better at it than you are. It is the reason I am Sael and you are Tael to our clan.”

Haril’s eyes blazed at that, and she wondered if he would strike her. He’d attempted to multiple times before.

“Nuva uralas telsyl na i’ga syl nyel laimem!” _May nature strangle you with all the air you have wasted!_

“Vara u’em, Haril. _Leave me alone._ I must report to Amelan Deshanna. Unlike you, I’ve been working.”

With another disgusted grunt Haril stalked away, joining the other lethallens by the fire. They all stared at her with naked disgust, and Soufehla hastened her steps to Deshanna’s familiar aravel. The bright orange aravel was a welcome sight and Soufehla opened the flap and slipped in, the thick wool cutting off the constant buzzing of insults and burning gazes of disapproval directed towards her.

The weak candle flames danced within the aravel from the breeze she let in, and Soufehla blinked to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim light. There was a quiet rustle from the corner though, and Soufehla sensed someone bolting towards her.

“Da’assan, you are here! Da fenlin, I was so worried!” Soufehla braced herself as Deshanna jumped up and threw her arms around her in a bruising embrace.

“Amelan…”

“Are you hurt? Did you escape from the shemlen? Should I order the clan to move?” She squeezed tighter somehow, and Soufehla’s ribs creaked alarmingly.

“Amelan!” Soufehla gripped her and set her apart, escaping from the woman’s death grip. She gasped for air, gulping it down before speaking again.

“I am fine, Amelan. But it was a mistake to look for me! What were you thinking? The Inquisition would have never known about the clan had you not sent them a letter!”

“How could I not? Da’assan, you are important to the clan. You’re Sael, and you’re my eolas’esayelan. I am to protect the clan which you are part of.”

“I can take care of myself, Amelan. Understand that you should not have risked the entire clan for me!”

Deshanna opened her mouth to protest, but Soufehla waved her hand to cut her off.

“But enough of this for now. I have little time, I cannot stay the night. I would have come back earlier if I could have, but things are dire in the South. You’ve heard of what’s transpired since the Conclave?”

Deshanna nodded at her, her orange eyes wide with worry. “We have heard that everyone who attended the Conclave perished except for one Dalish elf. I had hoped with fear clutching my heart it was you who survived. We’ve also heard of the Inquisition formed by some shemlen heretics and the Breach.”

“The Breach, the threat is immense. Whatever you do, go nowhere near the South with the clan. And I must return to the Inquisition and attempt to close the Breach. Only I have the power to seal it since the Mark is on my hand. I do not know how long I will be away from the clan.”

“Da’assan…”

“If left untended to, the Breach will eventually threaten us all. I must attempt to seal it before it can affect the clan. It is my duty as Sael to keep the clan safe. I will not shirk my duty, Amelan.”

Deshanna looked like she wanted to cry and Soufehla glanced away. She did not enjoy hurting her so, the only elf who did not fear her. Instead, she tried to change the subject.

“I do not know if word has reached out here, but the shemlen now address me as the Herald of Andraste. It is sickening, but also necessary. Do not let my new title worry the clan – they know better than any I bear no love for shems. I will come back once the Breach is sealed.”

“I understand, da’assan.” Deshanna looked up to her with tears streaking down her cheeks. But the woman stood tall and proud; Soufehla would miss her, truly. She, who was like a mother to her.

“Take Assan back with you – he is yours to begin with, and you could send word if anything was to happen.”

Soufehla blinked, surprised. The eagles were a precious part of the clan’s limited hunting birds, and Assan was one of the most prized eagles the clan owned. She had learned to shift into an eagle by watching Assan since he was a newborn chick. And though Assan was hers, she hadn’t expected to be able to take him with her.

“I will, Amelan. And one more thing before I leave – train Haril as you would train me, as Sael.”

Deshanna jerked as if Soufehla had slapped her.

“Why? You are the clan’s Sael. There is no reason to train Haril for your position, da’assan!”

“Amelan, be reasonable. I am to seal the Breach in the sky. You must always be prepared for the worst.” Soufehla spoke softly, holding Deshanna’s hands tight. The chances of her returning were… well, Soufehla was fairly certain she would sooner see Falon’Din than Deshanna once she returned to the Inquisition. Deshanna stared at her quietly, her kind tears brimming over her bright eyes as she finally accepted that she may not return. And she wept. Deshanna wept for her, the one marked by Fen’Harel.

“I will heed your advice, da’assan. Dar’eth Shiral, Soufehla. Sule sael tasalal.” _Go safely on your journey, Soufehla. Until we meet again._

Soufehla swallowed thickly, unable to deny her last vain attempt at hope of seeing her again. She merely nodded.

“Ma serannas. Tuelanen ama na, Deshanna.” _My thanks. Creators watch over you, Deshanna._

Soufehla touched Deshanna’s arms in one final farewell and quietly padded out of the aravel to face the world once more. The sound of Deshanna’s anguished cries were all too audible to her elven ears.

 

***

 

Soufehla scuttled into her own aravel, the cold air within indicating her long absence. She sent out a soft flush of her magic to make certain that nobody was hiding inside her aravel and immediately stripped out of the uncomfortable shemlen clothes all the while frowning in disgust.

Creators, how long has she been forced to wear these ridiculous things? How shems endured such restrictive apparels, she had no idea. She tore off the smalls she was wearing, tossing it in a heap on the ground with a snort. Why? Just, why?? Shemlen. They were beyond understanding.

Soufehla then ripped off the breastband, moaning out in relief as she freed her breasts from the tight bindings. Creators willing, she wouldn’t _ever_ have to wear such a horrendous thing again. If she ever went on another spying mission after this entire Breach business was done and over with, Soufehla would bring at least three extra pairs of her own clothes, just in case.

With all the shemlen clothes discarded on the floor in a shapeless lump, Soufehla walked over to the small chest that held her own clothes. She pulled on the undershirt, the familiar fabric settling over her naked skin before she strapped on her own Dalish armor – the warmest one she owned.

Her practiced fingers efficiently tightened the buckles to hold the thick furs in place, the supple leather wrapping around her like a second skin. She sighed happily as she smelled the familiar scent of her armor, glad to be finally wearing her own gears.

She flexed and stretched, testing the flexibility of her armor – which was perfect – before padding over to her bedroll. From beneath her pillows and blankets Soufehla pulled out multiple daggers and throwing knives. She strapped them onto herself, leaving no limbs free. By the time she finished, Soufehla was armed and armored to her teeth, though no one could ever tell under the thick bundle of fur she wrapped herself with. Soufehla finally felt safe again – she’d been feeling incredibly vulnerable without her arsenal of hidden weapons.

Soufehla then picked up her staff she’d carved herself, slinging it onto her back before padding over to her small looking-glass. There a dozen and a half of tiny silver bells were littered about, the bells she usually wore in her hair. The bells marked her as Dalish as much as the _vallaslin_ on her skin did, and she had been forced to take them off for the mission to pass as a seth'lin before leaving for the Conclave.

Now she braided and wove the bells back into her hair, each tiny bells jingling merrily with each swish of her head. She did not need to use the looking-glass to put the bells back into her hair. Creators, she’s missed the tiny ringing more than she ever thought she would. Soufehla had felt strangely hollow without them while she roamed all over the Hinterlands. Once the last of her bells were tied back into place, Soufehla double checked her reflection in the looking-glass. The bells chimed comfortingly as she jerked her head.

She finally looked like herself. Thank Mythal, it’s been too long.

With her basic needs taken care of, Soufehla padded back over to her chest and bent down once more to pull out more undershirts and such to stuff into her pack. She stuffed as many of her winter clothes into it as she could, pushing and shoving them down to make them fit in her small bag. She only added two pairs of summer clothes. From what she’s experienced so far, Soufehla was fairly certain she wouldn’t need it.

Once she finished packing her clothes, Soufehla shouldered the pack and allowed herself a moment to look around her empty aravel.

The dark aravel looked almost ominous, shooing her away with its chilly air. The next time the clan moved, her lethallens would dismantle it for her. Soufehla hoped that they would keep the aravel for the day she comes back, if she survived. With that somber thought Soufehla padded out to find a ring of lethallens gathered around her aravel, their hostility so thick in the air she could almost taste it on her tongue.

“Fen’Harel’s bitch. At least she doesn’t look like a flat-ear anymore.” Aviselan, one of the Hunters of the clan, muttered, her green eyes flashing angrily as she gave her a swift look-over.

“Going off somewhere, Dread Wolf’s pup? And you just got back too.” Haril sneered at her, his eyes taking in the tiny pack she had slung over her back.

“Haril, come here a moment.” She sighed, motioning for the man to follow but he bared his teeth at her.

“I won’t follow you anywhere, dhar. The Dread Wolf may hear my steps so close to yours.”

“Lethallin, I’m leaving. Please, come speak with me before I go.” She tried once more, hoping the Tael would see reason.

“You are no lethallan of mine, fenlin. Speak, if you will, here in front of my real lethallens.” Haril swept his hand out at the gathered elves, and Soufehla swallowed her frustrated growls.

“Fine! Haril, I must go back to the Inquisition. In my absence, you will be treated as the Sael. Aid our Amelan in this troubled time and protect the clan from the local shems. Once they realize that I am no longer with the clan, they may try to harm you.”

“Will you sink even lower, fenlin? You would go to the unarmed shems and seth'lins to slaughter them? Are the Templars not enough for your bloodlust? It is your fault, _Lavellan’s executioner_ , that the shems around these parts fear us so! If shems attack, know that the blood will be on your hands.” Verlen, another Hunter, spat at her while Haril cursed her.

“I pray that we won’t ever see you back here, fenlin. You are a disgrace to the clan. Nuva Ghi’lan’na’in then asa shud ove arsyl o’tarasyl, i dirash na in masa dur su an’banal. _May Ghi’lan’na’in stir her hoof through the roof of heaven and kick you in the ass down to the void._

“Pray that I succeed in my quest, for I attempt to mend the heavens that’s been torn open. If I do not, the demons will swallow us all sooner or later.” Soufehla replied quietly, staring straight at her clan mates. That finally quieted the bristling anger that was stirring.

“I go now, to serve my duty as Sael. Sule sal harthir, ma lethallens.” _Until we hear of each other again, my kin._

With that Soufehla padded away from her beloved clan, throwing one wistful glance over her shoulders.

“Fen’Harel’s caught your scent, dhar. Do not bring him to the clan with you.” Haril sneered at her back as she retreated, his lingering words clinging to her like a thick poisonous cloud until the forest swallowed her up whole.

 

*******

 

It wasn’t long before Soufehla padded along the forest with Assan circling overhead until her wolves slowly prowled out from undergrowth to greet her. Soufehla hooted in delight and jumped on top of the pack leader’s huge back. Soufehla loved her clan more than anything in this blasted world, but the words spoken by the Templar five previous winters ago had made her keep her distance from the others. The only place she could truly unwind and relax was now with her wolf pack. Soufehla felt the muscles roll and flex between her thighs as the wolves raced through the forest. Assan screeched overhead, circling round and round in the air.

Her strange affinity with wolves had always been a concern for her clan since she was a little girl. But when she had received her _vallaslin_ at age of eighteen, something had happened that nobody was expecting. An entire pack of wolves in the area had imprinted on her. And as her clan travelled along the Free Marches, the imprinted pack followed and its number swelled with each new region they swept through. Soufehla didn’t mind though her clan did.

Soufehla vaulted off from the back of alpha wolf, shifting into a black wolf and landing on her four paws. The pack’s paws drummed loudly against the forest ground as they raced. It wasn’t long before the pack reached the nesting ground.

Soufehla settled down with a group of wolves, snuggling together for warmth and napped for first time in weeks without worrying about finding a dagger buried in her heart. She lounged for the day, enjoying the ability to simply sprawl on the ground and having no one care. But the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon and all too soon it was time for Soufehla to return to reality.

She padded over to the alpha male, the massive grey wolf she’d ridden earlier. She barked and whined at him, gently nudging her thoughts outward with magic.

Farewell. I will not return to the clan. Soufehla told the wolf. She knew the imprinted pack would no longer follow her clan about without her there. The grey wolf stared at her with unwavering eyes, and Soufehla gave him an affectionate lick before standing and shaking her pelt out. With a final friendly yip, Soufehla pounced and shifted into an eagle and flew high into the air. The chorus of wolf howl filled the sky behind her as she flew back towards the South under the full moon with Assan, pulling at her heavy heart. Soufehla wondered if she would ever see her precious wolves again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I just realized that this story is pretty much ugly little duckling.... haha....  
> Please, please, PLEASE let me know what you guys think of her clan mates!!! I'd love to hear your opinions about them!!!! <3
> 
> Fun fact: Eagles can see up to 4~5 times better than a human with perfect eyesight!  
> Under ideal conditions a golden eagle (Aquila chrysaetos) can detect the slight movements of a rabbit from more than [1.25 miles] [2 km] away,” explains The Guinness Book of Animal Records. Others have estimated that the eagle can see even farther!
> 
> -source: http://wol.jw.org/en/wol/d/r1/lp-e/102002927  
> and  
> http://www.improveeyesighthq.com/eagle-eyesight.html


	11. Es'Leliana Banal'ras - Leliana's Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sister Nightingale_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING: Gore. Graphic Description of Violence. Reference to Rape. Blood. Trigger Warnings.**  
>  If you guys got this far, I'm assuming this stuff doesn't bother you. But please beware anyways?
> 
> Elvhen Translations:  
> Vir Banal’ras - The Way of Shadow  
> Vir Tanadhal - Ways of the Hunter  
> Vir Atish’an - The Way of Peace
> 
> da'lan - female version of da'len, which means young one/small one. Da'len is the word used in canon, but since this work relies heavily on FenxShiral's work, I decided to use the female version as it refers to Soufehla.  
> *Yes, Solas does not refer to Inquisitor in-game as da'len as often as he does in my story. But! since _my_ Solas has been stalking her dreams for past seven years roughly, I believe he feels much closer to Soufehla than he does to other Inquisitors in canon.

Half-shifted Soufehla. Imagine black fur.

_Sister Nightingale_

_Wolf has safely arrived at Val Royeaux. Templars are present as well. ~~Templars and Chantry stand together~~_

_The Templar Order has not returned to the Chantry. Lord Seeker left the city with Templars in tow as the Chantry and the people in Val Royeaux are ‘unworthy of protection’. A small team will trail them and send word._

_The Chantry has been dealt with, punched out by the Templars. Wolf has met with Fiona, and will return soon._

*~*

_Sister Nightingale_

_Wolf was invited to a soiree by one Madame de Fer. She introduced herself as the leader of loyalist Mages to Wolf and offered to help the Inquisition. Wolf rejected her immediately. Instead, Wolf is sending the Red Jennies to the Inquisition._

*~*

_Sister Nightingale_

_Wolf has met the Warden Blackwall. He wished to join the Inquisition, an offer which Wolf has accepted rather quickly compared to others. Wolf has also gained loyal following of cultists, led by the Speaker Anais. She has sworn to send any information of note to you._

_The watchtowers for Redcliffe farmers have been completed. Wolf has successfully acquired the mounts. The horses and master Dennet will arrive at Haven in a few days’ time._

*~*

_Sister Nightingale_

_Wolf has met with The Chargers and has hired them. The mercenary group is headed for Haven. Note: the leader of the group is a qunari that goes by the name The Iron Bull. He is Ben-Hassrath._

_Wolf avenged the group of Inquisition scouts and gained the loyalty of Blades of Hessarian in the area._

*~*

_Sister Nightingale_

_Wolf has been focused on helping the refugees in the area, gathering blankets, healers and such. Nothing of importance worth mentioning._

*~*

_Leaders of the Inquisition_

_An emergency report from a group of scouts from the Free Marches is included inside._

_EMERGENCY CORRESPONDENCE. DELIVER WITH ALL HASTE. ATTENTION - COMMANDER CULLEN._

_Sister Nightingale_

_We’ve been investigating the Herald as ordered, but had no luck. Her clan does not speak the King’s Tongue, and those few Traders who do absolutely refused to speak of their First._

_But the village folk nearby knew the Herald by physical descriptions. They did not know who she was – all they knew was that she came by to trade for a few things once in a while with village merchants by herself. Strange, as the clan’s Traders also came by to trade separately._

_They call the Herald ‘Lavellan’s executioner’. She is apparently the self-appointed killer for Clan Lavellan. The tales they tell of her depicts a vicious, bloodthirsty murderer who slaughters any and all who are caught in a nearby forest. From what we’ve investigated though, the only people she’s killed had been caught nearby her clan with weapons in hands; some with foulest intents. But village folk have learned to leave the Lavellans alone, in fear of her retributions._

_More importantly, the Herald is known far better by another name: Templar Hunter. The villagers report she has been killing Templars for sport for years. Any Templars unfortunate enough to have passed the forests Clan Lavellan is camped in for past few years have not survived their encounter with the ‘Templar Hunter’. We are looking into the number of Templars that have fallen at Herald’s hands. It is hard to be certain, but so far we’ve already found over thirty Templars that have perished in the nearby regions._

_Not one Templar has survived her so far._

_Scout Fisher_

*~*

_Sister Nightingale_

_Wolf has disappeared. Everyone at hand is desperately searching for her. Will send word as soon as anything of note turns up._

* * *

Soufehla padded through the forest softly, listening to Leliana’s scouts crashing through the forest in search of her. The bells woven into her hair did not jingle in the least bit – she’d learned how to walk softly without jarring them long ago. The bells never chimed unless she wanted them to.

She’d known of course, of the few quiet shadows that had been following her about for the past month or so after she’d returned from her clan. Soufehla had returned to find the small village in uproar, the few Mages and Templars within the Inquisition practically tearing at each other’s throats. There surely would have been blood had the golden Templar not intervened.

Then the golden Templar had gawked at her Dalish appearance long enough to forget he was supposed to be livid at her for leaving without a word. Even the other advisors were assuaged fairly easily by the shock caused by her Dalish appearance and thick bundles of blood lotus and elfroots she’d brought back. But soon after, these spies had started to follow her everywhere.

She allowed them to trail after her with feigned ignorance and knew of the reports the spies sent back to Leliana. Soufehla usually read through them before they were sent to Haven. She supposed it didn’t really matter. The spies weren’t learning anything useful about her, and if this gave others a peace of mind then so be it. They at least weren’t hostile.

Not that these spies could do anything about Soufehla sneaking off at night of course. She disappeared into the forest each night, kept her distance from others as usual though Varric stubbornly kept her company as often as possible. Soufehla missed her wolves terribly – she looked up to the moon and howled for her pack each night as she sat alone beneath the foreign tree shadows.

But tonight was different. A few nights earlier, Soufehla had flown over a small valley that contained an entire unit of Templars. The Templar encampment they’d been searching for. Soufehla had not shared the location with others.

Instead, she spent the time preparing herself. She had knelt in the deep shadows and prayed to Elgar’nan and Andruil for vengeance, for a successful hunt. She’d preserved her strength and allowed the scouts’ guards to lax before quietly slipping away.

It was foolish. Soufehla knew that. She was smart enough to know just how much of a terrible idea this was.

She’d never hunted a Templar by herself before. Soufehla’s trusted wolf pack had always guarded her back, had always been there for her while she went to hunt and kill a few stray Templars. But her wolf pack was in the Free Marches at the moment. She was alone here.

She was but one elf. The Templar camp had dozens of vicious Templars, one of Thedas’ best warriors. It was a preposterous idea. Only she had the power to seal the Rifts. The Breach slowly grew larger each day in the sky, the sickly green slowly crawling further across the heavens.

But they were Templars. Her fury blazed as she raced through the forest, her fangs lengthening and claws erupting where her nails once were. A thick and oozy crimson haze settled over her thoughts, and she knew she was no longer thinking. Her rage burned hot, scorching away all reason and caution. This was insane. But her frenzied wrath knew no bounds.

She would taste the blood of Templars tonight. She would feast on their terrified screams. She would revel in the Templars’ agonized howls.

Soufehla wouldn’t share this grand affair with anyone else. This slaughter was for her enjoyment, it was to sate her ever-growing need for Templars’ death. It was for her alone. Let the others find their own prey to hunt.

She discarded her staff by an oak tree atop the waterfall. Her magic would be of no use against Templars. No matter; Soufehla wanted to rip them apart with her bare hands.

She jumped down the short length of the cliff, her powerful half-shifted canine legs easily absorbing the jarring shock that would have broken normal bones. She did not fully shift into a wolf though – she wished for these Templars to see her before their deaths claimed them. Wanted them to see the very embodiment of vengeance they had created themselves five years ago. She was their very own sin come back to haunt them.

A nearby Templar whirled around, her brown eyes widening in shock. She opened her mouth to shout a warning – but Soufehla’s claws tore into her throat and she only gurgled pitifully. She stepped past the choking Templar, in search for more.

There must be more. Soufehla needed more blood.

Another Templar was standing watch a little way off from the campfire. Soufehla pounced on him, her fangs biting into his neck while her claws tore apart his skin. His pained scream was once again cut off short with bubbling gasp.

Three Templars sat huddled around the campfire, laughing and drinking. One of them had crystal blue eyes. Soufehla leapt onto him and stabbed her claws into his eye sockets. The man screeched while the other two simply gaped at the sight amazedly. Soufehla’s sharp fangs soon had all three howling in pain as they lay dying by the fire. With a quick swipe the alcohol was sprayed over their clothes. The fire soon danced on their skins and the Templars writhed in pain.

But the camp was aware of her now. Alarmed shouts rang out, and the encampment roared to life as warnings against her buzzed through the ranks of warriors. Templars rushed over to see her crouched on the ground, raised their swords and shields and called out to the Maker for strength. Soufehla grinned, knew her smile split her face maniacally.

A whirl of claws, daggers, blades, and shields. She twirled and jumped, evaded their precise cuts with fluid grace she spent years mastering. A few nicks cut her open, shredded her clothes. But her fangs and claws ran slick with their shed blood, their painful dying gasps spurring her on.

She tore someone’s arm off with her wolven strength. She mangled another’s leg by slicing with her claws. She flipped over someone’s back and laughed while one Templar skewered another. The ground grew slippery with their lifeblood. Defeated Templars lay groaning and moaning pathetically, and Soufehla trampled them down, crunched their bones with her heavy feet while fighting those still standing. She never gave them a clean death.

Until all but one lay screaming in pain. One Templar-Knight stood panting alone, his blond curls plastered across his face with blood and sweat. He almost reminded her of the golden Templar back in Haven. But this one turned to flee, to leave the others dying in her hands. Pathetic fool. This one knew no shame, knew of no honor. Exactly what she has come to expect from the Templars. The real golden one would never stoop so low as this one.

Soufehla leapt, landed on the Templar’s back with a solid thud. The man fell and skidded a short distance, sputtered as dirt rubbed his face raw and stuffed his mouth. She threw her head back and laughed, a strange mixture of wolf howl and elven giggles.

“Please. Please, I have a family. Please.” The Templar begged, and Soufehla crushed his shoulder with her foot, and twisted his elbow until the joint snapped with an audible crack and he screamed for the world to hear.

“Do not worry.” She sneered at him.

“I am freeing them now from you.”

* * *

_Sister Nightingale_

_Wolf returned. She was covered in blood and shredded clothes. We assume she healed her own wounds before returning to camp as we saw no signs of injuries despite her state. Wolf did not say where she’s been, but headed straight to her tent and fell asleep. We will keep a closer eye on her from now on._

_Scout Pellane_

*~*

_Commander Cullen_

_Ser, below is a copy of report sent in by an agent stationed nearby the Redcliffe farms:_

_Leaders of the Inquisition_

_A few nights ago the farmers of Redcliffe heard hours of constant agonized screaming from a nearby waterfall in the dead of night. Even we could hear the screeching noise from the Inquisition camp. We left to investigate the source and came upon a Templar encampment._

_Dozens of Templars were dead, most of them torn apart. Some seemed as if they had been burned alive. All of them had suffered a great deal of pain before death, particularly the one with his eyes gouged out. Something powerful and terrible had attacked these Templars from what we could see._

_Requesting permission to investigate further for a powerful demon or a Rift that could potentially attack the farmers._

_Corporal Vale_

*~*

_Corporal Vale_

_Request denied. Herald has already dispatched the demon in the nearby area and closed the Rift it had spawned from. Continue on with the relief efforts._

_Commander Cullen_

* * *

Soft grass brushed gently over his silky furs, muffling his heavy steps as he padded through the familiar eternal forest of night. A soft breeze ruffled his pure-white pelt, and he sniffed the air to scent the smells he knew he would find.

The familiar metallic tang of blood mixed in with salty-sweet scent of bodily fluids. The breeze also carried the squelching noises of forced pleasure to his canine ears. The warm night air was sweet, so very sweet with the brightly blooming flowers luring the bees to collect their honey and pollen.

Solas pushed through the undergrowth, already knowing what he would find past these thick ferns. His canine eyes easily pierced the dark shadows cast by tall, imposing trees to find the six figures hidden in the darkness. It was a beautiful forest, marred by the horrors this da’lan faced.

Adahlena was reliving this moment as she so often did since the night five years ago. She was once again trapped, bound as she was that night, screaming and choking on the Templars that brutalized her. He saw the tears streaking down her cheeks; saw her slender form flex and clench, fighting five towering Templars with all her meager strength.

It hadn’t been enough to save her that night; it would not be enough now. They’d both relived this nightmare enough times to know.

Solas growled deep in his throat, hackles rising, claws extending. His lips curled over his fangs and he crouched low to the ground, silently stepping towards the shadows where da’lan fought bitterly against the Templars buried inside her. Other dream-wolves were joining him, circling around the lumps of shadows jerking in the darkness.

A sneering laughter floated over and Solas lifted his massive head just a little, a rumbling growl ripping itself free. He did not need to look to know where the laughter came from, but as always he looked.

Da’lan’s clan mates stood nearby, gleefully cheering on the Templars and leering at the violated elf. They rejoiced in da’lan’s blood-tears, spurred the Templars on to take her more roughly. Adahlena kicked out at one of the Templars, earning a swift blow.

The wolves around him burst out from the bushes, howling and barking furiously as they rushed the five Templars. Leering elves vanished, though their grinding laughter lingered in the air. Solas’ fangs crushed the blue-eyed Templar’s throat, and he tasted the shemlen blood thick over his tongue. He savored it. He howled along with other wolves, rubbed his pelt against her naked legs. She laughed along with him, fierce satisfaction blazing at the sight of blood matting his snow-white fur. But as always, she would not remember. Adahlena never remembered the white wolf with six red eyes that stalked her dreams. Da’lan kneeled down and rubbed his head, wiping the blood from his snout. Her dark eyes stared into his red ones.

With a jolt Solas sat up in his bedroll, throwing the covers back. His lips were still curled over his teeth, his tongue still tasting the metallic tinge of shemlen blood.

The Fade was the place he felt more alive, where the world held brighter colors and everything was more focused. It was the closest place to the real world – where he did not feel locked up inside his fragile body. And yet, her dream had been more than that. Adahlena’s dream was so much sharper, so alive, that despite having seen it countless times before Solas felt the growing horror he’d felt the night he’d seen her betrayed once more. He had not joined in the fray reenacted by the dream-wolves for years till now. It seemed the Anchor had an unforeseen side effects on da’lan. She had no doubt felt the rape as vividly as the night it had happened, if not more so.

Solas frowned, sitting cross legged. The night was still silent – Adahlena’s spell of muffling noise had drowned out her screams effectively. The girl had grown incredibly adept at such spells since she’d cast off Vir Atish’an and sworn to follow Vir Banal’ras.

When he’d first started to visit her dreams – she’d been a kind soul with endless bubble of cheerful smiles. She’d dedicated herself to Vir Atish’an, to the path of healing and mending arts. No matter how scathing the words her clan mates threw at her were, da’lan would smile and mend their injuries. Until the night in the woods.

Since then, she’d followed Vir Tanadhal and Vir Banal’ras, dedicating herself to combat arts and blood debt. Her charming smile vanished from her quirking lips, and her spells were of violent, tumbling raw power instead of gentle, rejuvenating energy. Her face wore a constant scowl, her words an endless snarl for anyone outside her clan.

And since that night, a Vengeance spirit had latched onto her.

Solas stood up, pacing the small room within his tent slowly. A Vengeance spirit wasn’t as uncommon as a few other spirits such as Wisdom or Compassion. But it could be very dangerous, especially for those who did not know of Vengeance’s true nature. This was doubly so for Adahlena… so arrested by the rape she suffered through, she was not even aware of the spirit that lurked within her conscience for the past five years.

He’d not interfered. Though this Vengeance spirit was feeding off her thirst for revenge as a demon would, it did not wish to possess her. It would not do for him to aid this da’lan in such a way… he would not have known her secret, known that Vengeance stalked her dreams as he did now if not for that strange bond between them. It was a matter she must grow to find out about herself, without the aid of an ancient elf.

He’d watched the Vengeance spirit fuel her bloodlust over the years, believing that this da’lan was strong and smart enough to deal with it herself. Solas did not doubt her abilities in the least, only bemoaned her dreadful situation where her emotional wounds were left alone to fester and rot her spirit. If her lethallens had accepted her, treated her as she deserved, no doubt Adahlena would have recovered long ago with that exceptional spirit of hers.

But this da’lan was out of the forests now. She roamed the continent full of those that weren’t of her clan. Before, only a few dozen unfortunate Templars crossed her path. Now entire units of Templars met her daily. Vengeance had grown in power at an incredible rate since Adahlena had come to the Hinterlands.

So should he speak to Vengeance of her? He knew how this spirit coaxed her rage to burn brighter in the presence of Templars. He knew how this spirit manipulated da’lan’s wounds, made her crazed with blinding anger. She was not herself around the Templars – that blistering wrath was not her own.

Cool headed, Adahlena had a wicked-sharp wit even he was proud of. But da’lan had thrown herself at an encampment of Templars alone, without even the support from her wolves. Never before had she been so reckless. Never before had she thrown caution to wind in such ways – Vengeance was growing bolder with every Templar she killed. Blinded by lust for revenge, her wit dulled to unforeseen lengths. He would never have thought her capable of taking such an idiotic risk, especially with the Mark carved into her hand.

But Adahlena needed time, needed a comforting touch. With a few friendly words, this remarkable da’lan would heal herself. Solas did not wish to intervene.

With a sigh he padded out of his tent, the small space within growing too tight for his heavy thoughts. But the other elf was already outside in the dark, her black-violet eyes sparkling in the dim light by the campfire. Beside her sat the dwarf.

“Solas,” she inclined her head slightly, throwing a glance over her shoulder. He paused a moment to compose himself.

“Adahlena. I believe it is Cassandra and Varric’s turn to watch the camp?”

“I could not sleep, so I told her to get some. She deserves some rest after fighting off those bears.” She shrugged lightly before turning to face the fire once more. Her voice was lighter than usual – forcibly light. Of course, da’lan would not want others to worry.

“Why are you up, Chuckles?” Varric asked, watching the flames dance.

“Sleep can be difficult to come by sometimes.” He answered, moving to sit down beside her. She snorted, and he saw a ghosting hint of a smile tugging at her lips. But she did not smile fully, like she often used to years ago.

“Really? You can’t sleep? You? You love dreaming.”

“It can happen to any of us.”

“Right.”

They sat quietly by the fire, the wood crackling and popping once in a while in the deep silence. The thought of Vengeance nudged insistently against his mind – this da’lan was extremely dangerous for any Templars to face. What if Adahlena gave into her bloodlust and murdered the Commander? Was it not better for him to prevent such disasters ahead of time?

“Can you believe Cassandra’s making me look for _blankets_ , of all things?” Adahlena’s sudden words shook him, and Solas stared at her quizzically.

“I am sorry?”

“Blankets. She’s making me look for blankets in this frozen forest! Rams, I could understand. Even the bandits. But am I seriously trekking all over this icy forest looking for some wool blankets!?” She grumbled, poking at the campfire with a thin stick.

“If I recall correctly, I believe you volunteered to search the woods for those blankets. Seeker did not say one word about it.” He smiled gently.

“Actually, wasn’t she the one who said it’s a waste of time? ‘The intent is good, but we will never find blankets in a middle of this humongous forest’, or something to that effect?” Varric chuckled.

“Yes, well… I don’t know! Shems should be able to find their own blankets. Why am I doing this?” She turned her gaze back onto the fire, avoiding eye contacts with either of them. Her silver bells jingled softly with the motion.

“Adahlena, you volunteered to hunt rams. And deliver medicine. You even delivered flowers for an elf’s dead wife.” He chuckled.

“You do realize no one’s making you do that, right?” Varric chuckled as well, nudging her.

“I did not! I… I wasn’t… They were giving me those puppy eyes!” She huffed, her cheeks coloring red. No doubt she’d blame the heat from the fire.

“Stupid shems and flat-ears. So incompetent.” She muttered, keeping her eyes focused on the fire.

“So, just to be clear, you’re not helping them out of the goodness of your heart?” Varric grinned at her.

“Stupid shems and flat-ears do not deserve the ‘goodness of my heart’. Even if they did, I wouldn’t care.” She shot back, though now even the tips of her ears were red. Solas shared an amused look with Varric. It wasn’t often they saw her so flustered – and of course they both knew she was lying.

Since the moment she’d seen the helpless refugees at the crossroads, da’lan had done all within her power to ensure the survival of those in need. She’d even jumped into a burning hut to try to save the young Mages locked inside once.

“Right. Of course not, Wolfie. Your heart’s just a frozen block of ice, huh?” Varric laughed, giving her a light nudge with his fist.

“Why Wolf? Seriously. Of all things, Wolf? That’s the best you can do?” She glanced down at the dwarf, raising her brows.

“What? You don’t think it fits you? You sure fight like one though.” Varric shrugged in response.

“Oh no, Varric. I know how wolf-like I am.” Adahlena gave him a sharp smile, her magicked fangs gleaming in the dim firelight. Solas could hear Varric gulp nervously.

“I just expected more from the renowned author. Sadly, it seems that I have overestimated your prowess with words.” Adahlena smiled, her eyes shining brightly with amusement. He barked out a laugh at that unexpected jab, and Varric muttered darkly about horrendous nicknames and an ungrateful elf. He chuckled as Adahlena snickered, enjoying the rare sight of her smiling. All too soon her gentle laughter faded away into silence, her expression smoothing out once more into a carefully composed mask.

Solas gazed into her dark eyes, resisting the urge to run his fingers over her cheek. Her nature was not of the maniacal rage Vengeance forced her into near the Templars. Even after years of abuse and harassment, this da’lan kept her tender and caring heart for others – this da’lan held powerful strength within her. How many would suffer what she’s endured and be reduced into a lump of hate and nothing else? And yet she fought on, for the sake of others.

She held the strength to handle the spirit of Vengeance on her own. It was not his place to meddle so. If Vengeance fully deteriorated into a demon, he’d step in. But until then, Solas would place his trust in Adahlena’s kind nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is a fairly long chapter, next chapter is rather short and I'll post it a day later than usual. Just a bit of heads-up.
> 
> And yes, it's a Vengeance spirit, not a Vengeance demon. Anders' friend Justice was morphed into Vengeance due to his anger, but still wasn't considered as a demon. I believe that Vengeance is like Justice and Retribution with too much rage - and if Vengeance was to fully deteriorate into a demon, I think it would lose its target/focus and become a mindless lump of blind rage - so a Great Rage demon. So as long as it remains as Vengeance, I believe Solas will identify it as a spirit and not a demon.
> 
> *Feel free to toss in your ideas and opinions of Vengeance in comments, I'd love to see what you guys think about him/it!*


	12. In'atorisathe'telahnem - In Hushed Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It would be nice to stop him from ripping a hole in time. There’s already a hole in the sky.” The Tavinte smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to FenxShiral for elvhen.
> 
> Tavinte = Tevinter

I know screenshots of Soufehla have flower _vallaslin_ , but that's just for my sake in-game. Soufehla actually has Mythal's _vallaslin_. The simple version.

In the end, the decision was made for them.

Inquisition scouts reported a Rift opening up right by Redcliffe, and Soufehla had galloped off before anybody could stop her. By the time her party caught up to her, Soufehla had been battling the demons which had spilled out of the tear in the Veil.

The moment last terror demon screeched as it was pulled back through the Rift, Soufehla stuck her arm out to link it with the sizzling green glow. The Mark tore at her once again, a familiar pain ripping through her arm as she wrestled with the stubborn magic. But as always Soufehla wrenched her arm back with a snarl and the strange Rift slammed close in response, unable to overpower her will.

“Were you thinking anything at all?!” Cassandra roared at her, stomping over furiously. “Running off on your own like that! Did you possibly think you could take on all the demons by yourself?”

“What would you have me do, Cassandra?” She shouted right back, planting her feet and glaring at the warrior. “A Rift, Cassandra! Right next to an entire village full of Mages! Demons spewing out from a hole to find hundreds of Mages ambling about! Would you make me leave them be? Let them be possessed? Allow them to slaughter innocent shems unfortunate enough to have homes here?”

“We should have waited for a word from Haven! We never agreed to talk to the Mages.”

“And how many would have been possessed while I sat on my hands, twiddling my thumbs?” She sneered at her, enraging the woman further.

“He-ey now Seeker,” Varric hastily pushed back against her. “We’re here now, disaster thwarted, gallant heroes come to save the day. Let’s not spoil the day with friendly blood, huh?”

They glared at each other a beat longer until Soufehla heard the soft crunch of approaching footsteps. She whirled around to face the unknown newcomer, her hand flying to her staff.

“Whoa, careful where you point that thing now.” A shem clad in the strangest clothing – composed of expensive looking fabric and leather belts – she’s ever seen put up his hands warily, his perfectly curled mustache twitching amusedly. The man had an exceptionally toned olive skin and a handsome smile. She immediately noted the smoothly polished staff slung across this man’s back. A Mage then.

“Tevinter. And pretty. Watch yourself, Boss.” Bull growled, hefting his massive sword. Cassandra readied her sword as well.

Tevinter. _Fenedhis_.

Soufehla called forth a storm, her hands crackling with violet electric bolts. Tavinte Mage – slave owning, despicable shems that dabbled in blood magic. She’d never expected to see one in her life – and now one of them just pranced out of nowhere. As if her life outside of her clan wasn’t interesting enough already.

“So suspicious, the lot of you. Isn’t that any way to greet a charming person as myself?” He cocked his head and pouted.

“What do you want, Tavinte?” She snarled, watching him warily. But the strange Mage did not in the least bit seem concerned of her magic – he did not reach for his staff even. And she was honor-bound, unable to attack until he did so.

“Why, to save your life of course.” He smirked, his brilliant eyes flashing charmingly.

“Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. Absolutely fascinated to make your acquaintance, miss…?” The man dipped into a sweeping bow, quirking his lips.

She bared her fangs at him.

“Ah. Well, perhaps this will put your mind at ease instead then.” The shem shrugged, unperturbed, pulling out of his bow gracefully. Then he pulled a thin parchment out of his coat and handed it out for her to take it.

“Nothing would make me trust a Tavinte, shem!” She spat.

“And while that’s a healthy attitude to take were we in Tevinter, at the moment we are not. And this really will help you.”

Soufehla glared at him, but he did not flinch in the least. And she couldn’t deny the curiosity gnawing at her mind. With a swift swipe Soufehla snatched the parchment out of the shem’s hand and gave it a quick look-over, though she never quite took her eyes off of the Tavinte.

Oh Mythal, this couldn’t possibly be true. Elgar’nan have mercy on her soul, this couldn’t possibly be true.

“Fenedhis lasa!” She swore sharply, passing the note over to Cassandra.

“It’s not the actual document of course – it’s only a copy of their written contract. Burning it would achieve nothing I’m afraid.” Shem spoke, though his cheerful tone had died down into something more worrisome.

“This cannot be true! Mages indenturing themselves to a Tevinter Magister? They’d have to be mad to do such a thing!” Cassandra protested.

“Mad or desperate. Or magic. Care to take a gander?”

“You mean to say that a Magister controlled Fiona’s mind with blood magic?” Solas asked.

“While that would be the most logical assumption, no, not in this case. Something far more dangerous than blood magic has been employed here. Magister Alexius, who was once my mentor, distorted time itself to reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition.”

“What?!” Cassandra exclaimed, though Soufehla’s mind was whirling. Time magic. Was it possible? Theoretically, she supposed magic could do many incomprehensible things. But to alter the flow of time itself? Impossible. Almost as impossible as the heavens tearing itself open. But the Breach glowed eerily in the sky as did the Mark on her hand.

“The Rift you closed here just now? You saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up and slowed others down. There’s another one inside the Redcliffe Chantry. And soon there will be more like it, and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The time magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unraveling the world.”

“I still need more proof than ‘magical time control! Go with it.’” She sneered, though truthfully Soufehla believed the man. The last Rift had indeed messed with time as Tavinte described.

“Of course you do, though I assure you I know what I’m talking about. I helped develop this magic.” The shem huffed indignantly.

“We will investigate Redcliffe now, and I need to go close that Rift in the Chantry.” Soufehla groaned inwardly. Two Rifts in one day – and not even an hour in between the two. Her arm was going to ache terribly tonight.

“Right, though Alexius doesn’t know that I’m here and I’d like to keep it that way. I’ll wait for you right here, if you don’t mind?” Tavinte shrugged, leaning delicately on the village wall.

“You gonna wait? What, you planning to tag along too?” Sera quipped up, staring.

“Why yes, of course I am. Was there any doubt?” Tavinte’s eyes seemed to dance.

“I do not trust a Tavinte. Why do you think I’ll let you tag along?” She spat at him. She’d be a fool to trust such a man.

“Because if you have any brains you’ll realize I’m right and that you need my help. Oh do be warned – Alexius has recently joined a cult of Tevinter supremacists called ‘Venatori’, who are apparently obsessed with you. He’s ripped time to shreds just to get his hands on you. Do watch yourself and return in one piece.” The man smirked again, twirling his mustache around his finger.

“And why would you work against your own mentor? You could be a spy for him.” Bull grumbled.

“It would be nice to stop him from ripping a hole in time. There’s already a hole in the sky.” The Tavinte smiled.

 

*******

 

“No, absolutely not! It’s a death trap! You go in there, you’ll die. I won’t allow it!”

“I’m not your thing, Templar! How dare you even suggest that you hold any power over me? My life is my own!” She snarled, baring her fangs. How _dare_ he! She was going to tear his throat out!

“You’d jump into a boiling pot knowing you’d die, just so you can avoid talking to Templars?” He shouted right back.

“And you’re suggesting we leave Tavintes in Redcliffe alone! Alexius is mangling the flow of time itself. You think he’d just say ‘oh, it looks like you liked the Templars better I guess I’ll just go back home now’ and leave?”

“You are the only one who can close the Rifts! Getting you killed is not an option.” The golden Templar crossed his arms and stared daggers at her, a look which she returned tenfold. If it wasn’t for the words she’d given him, she would tear his limbs apart, make him scream in agony…

Leliana coughed delicately, bringing the room’s attention on to her.

“If you two are done,” she stared wearily at them. “I know of a secret passage into the castle. Hisul’em had used it to rescue the arl’s family during the Blight. Perhaps we could send agents in through there.”

“No, it’s too risky. The agents will be discovered before they reach the Magister.” The golden Templar shook his head, and Soufehla felt herself bristling once more. The stubborn brute was refusing so they could work out an alliance with the Templars, surely.

“Not if I go in as a distraction, Templar. The entire castle will focus on me, and the agents may pass through undetected. I thought you were a strategist?” She sneered at him, and the Templar flushed with anger. His golden eyes flashed over to her, but before they could start shouting again the Tavinte cut in.

“That’s good and all, but your spies will never get past Alexius’s magic without my help. So I’m coming along.”

Tavinte or Templar. Tavinte won, the lesser of two evils.

“Fine! But I’ll be keeping a close eye on you.” She snapped at him.

“Lavellan, this plan puts you at ridiculous amount of danger. We can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this. There is no reason we should risk sending you in there.” The golden Templar tried one last time, but Soufehla simply laughed.

“I am Dalish, First to Clan Lavellan. I will not run from a bit of danger, Templar. I will do as my duty demands. I will come back with the Mages. Make sure you’re ready to receive them upon my return.”

She whirled around and left. Horrendous golden Templar. She would never break as he wished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you guys can guess, the next two chapters will be the major quest in-game, In Hushed Whispers.  
> Because of the content and the flow, I had to split the quest into three parts, but I _really_ don't want to post the next two chapters separately.  
>  So! The next two chapters will be posted on the same day, so you guys can read it all at once which is the way I want those two chapters to be read.
> 
> Instead, I'll taking a very short break from writing/posting WTA since I've been completely neglecting my other major fic Second Chance For Him, and I have a Christmas oneshot I'm working on a s well.
> 
> Don't worry, I'll be back in a few days ;D
> 
> P.S. Any artist who would be willing to draw red-lyrium cullen for me?


	13. In'atorisathe'telahnem (ta) - In Hushed Whispers (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen Credits to FenxShiral
> 
> Tavinte = Tevinter  
> Tavhen = Tevene
> 
> **Warning: Graphic Description of Violence, Gore**
> 
> Usual picture is going to be at the end of the chapter this time.

Soufehla, of course, landed on her _ass_.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She grumbled as she moved to stand up from hard stone floor, her furred armor instantly soaked through by the shallow pool of stale water she’d landed in. Her bruised ass made her slow and clumsy though, a fact she paid for dearly as Tavinte came flying above her.

“Venhedis, move!” He shouted, but it was too late. He crashed down right on top of her, flattening her against the floor.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.” She growled again, feeling the water gently lapping at her face.

“So sorry, Adahlena. But my thanks for softening the fall.” He laughed as he rolled off of her and stood up. He offered a hand for her to grab on to, which she ignored.

“You ass.” She gingerly climbed to her feet and limped to a corner of the room where the floor wasn’t submerged beneath water while dragging the Tavinte by his arm, as her sharp ears twitched and caught the loud splashing noise of two people running towards them.

“Get down.” She hissed at the Mage, pushing him up against the wall and following suit just as two men dressed in Tavhen armor rushed in. One of them muttered something in what she assumed was Tavhen.

Quietly, she readied a spark of electricity in her hands and tossed it at the water pooled on the floor. Immediately the two guards shrieked in agony as their bodies jerked and twisted. Soon enough, they lay twitching on the floor unconscious.

“Good thinking, if I may say so.” Tavinte commented as they stepped away from the wall.

“Where are we?” She asked as she waved her hand aglow with fire. She started to dry out her furs – she had no wish to trek through wherever this was while her armor was completely soaked through. Tavinte similarly copied her motions with his own spell of Immolation.

“It’s not simply where we are, it’s when. Alexius tried to remove you from time completely. You would have ceased to exist! Luckily for you, I intervened and the magic went wild. The Rift probably moved us through time instead of ripping us out of it.”

“Moved through time?! Forward or backward? How far? Can we go back? We must go back!”

“Yes, I quite agree. I’m not certain but I think Alexius used that amulet as the focus of the spell. Perhaps if we find it we have a chance of undoing this little side trip through time. Let’s look around, shall we?” He straightened up with a smile and turned around, but Soufehla gripped his arm.

“Adahlena?” He quirked his brows, and Soufehla gulped nervously. Her honor demanded that she speak now. It did not matter he was Tavinte – it was wrong for her to keep quiet.

“I… uh, I need to… uhm, I _want_ to thank you. For saving me.” She blushed furiously as she let go of him. But he’d saved her, and he was owed a show of gratitude on her part at the very least. She owed him a life debt. “So, uhm, thank you.”

“Really? Well, if you’re truly thankful, will you start calling me by my name now?” He laughed, though not unkindly. She gripped her hands tighter together.

“Right. I will.”

“You will…?”

“I will, _Dorian_.” Soufehla flushed, feeling the heat climb up to the tips of her ears. She hated it and thanked Mythal for the near-complete darkness of the cell they were in.

“Splendid!” He grinned cheekily at her before stepping out through the doorway of the cell. With an amused sigh, Soufehla followed.

Not two minutes passed before she was bent over though, retching as her guts twisted violently. Her stomach wrung out all contents, and she gagged on her own bile while Dorian worriedly patted her back.

“Adahlena…”

“It’s… it’s the red lyrium.” She gasped, gesturing vaguely at the bloody-red stones growing out of the walls all around them. “It’s just so… wrong. I’ve, cough, I’ve seen them only once before at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Varric says it’s evil. I agree.”

“Indeed, so do I. But your response to it…”

“I’m just a tad more sensitive to lyrium than others. Give me a moment, and I’ll be fine.” She panted, closing her eyes and pressing a fist up against her forehead. She would _not_ show weakness. She would _not_ fail here, just because she felt a little sick.

With sheer determination Soufehla stood straight and stumbled along, the bells in her hair jingling comfortingly. Usually she could pad along smoothly enough not to jostle those bells, but with her vision swimming and flashing and her stomach rolling around, all she could do was to stagger through the castle’s cells.

“Adahlena, this is not going to work.” Dorian pulled at her again, but Soufehla doggedly pushed on.

“Adahlena!”

“What choice do I have, Dorian? Should I sit here and get sicker? There’s red lyrium everywhere! Should I simply slump over and give up? We need to keep moving.” She snapped, trying to remember exactly how to walk. One foot in front of the other. She ignored the corrupted lyrium seeping through her skin. She ignored the dreadfully mangled castle hallways, and the inexplicable dread growing in her guts.

Dorian followed silently after that, but she did not miss how his eyes flickered to the glowing red crystals that had swallowed up most of the stone walls of the castle. Her stomach lurched with every painful steps she took.

“Alexius has made a dreadful mess of this place, hasn’t he?” Dorian muttered as they padded along. Soufehla eyed a few swords stuck in the red lyrium and wondered if someone had been trying to shatter it. Each cell was full of countless skeletons, smooth ivory bones littered across the icy stone floor. She brushed past them, trying not to count the number of skulls with empty sockets staring at her as she passed. There were too many.

Torn and shredded heraldry of Tavinte hung from the ceilings, and occasionally they passed a few statues with dreadful stone skulls at the top, their sightless gaze lingering on the two Mages wandering the halls. They soon found their way up the stairs and saw that the gleaming skeletons had overflowed from the cells. They were now littered around the statutes and the hallways, as numerous as the very stones the castle was built from. The air was thick and heavy with corruption, almost had an oozy texture to it. She wondered if it was her sensitivity to lyrium that made her feel so, or if Dorian could feel it too. She continuously choked on it.

“I didn’t see this part of the castle.” She whispered as they made their way carefully through overgrown lyrium clumps, their nerves standing on end as they avoided touching the dreadful stuff.

“It was covered in the tackiest carvings of wolves and dogs I’d ever seen. This is not an improvement.” Dorian sniffed, and Soufehla burst out laughing. She wheezed and choked soon on the vile air, but still, she laughed until tears pooled in her eyes. Improvement! She nearly gagged as uncontrollable fit of laughter gripped her body.

“You’d agree with me if you’d seen them too.” Dorian merely shrugged, though his eyes seemed less worried than before. Once Soufehla managed to quiet down to gentle tremors, they continued on.

There were others in the cells, such as Lysas. She remembered him trailing after Fiona in Redcliffe like a well-trained pup. Now he was unable to even acknowledge her presence, muttering something about Andraste as he paced like a maddened beast next a clump of red lyrium. She touched each of the prisoners’ hands through the iron bars and sent a bolt of lightning into their bodies that was powerful enough to stop their hearts. She prayed Falon’Din would guide their souls safely to the Beyond where they may find peace. For they would never find one in this world.

“This would be marginally easier if everybody we met wasn’t crazy.” Dorian muttered, but his quips grew shorter and quieter as they delved deep into this waking horror. His attempts at trying to keep them spirited was appreciated, but whenever this was it was too defiled for their moods to be lifted by a few choice words.

But Lysas didn’t look too different from when she’d last seen him. Soufehla hoped that they weren’t removed too far from their own timeline. And if this was the Redcliffe castle, then surely they were moved to the future? She could not imagine Fereldens having no record of the castle being in this state.

“Dorian, see that?” She pointed towards a corner of the room where an unfamiliar glyph was drawn onto the floor and the wall. Few skeletons sat right over the glyphs, their limbs still bound by rotting ropes. Blood was splattered spectacularly over them.

“Blood magic.” Dorian scowled at it. “Poor sods.”

They moved quicker now. Soufehla gritted her teeth and pushed forward, ignoring the churning pain inside. Even if she were to vomit up her intestines at this forced pace, she did not wish to stay here a moment longer than absolutely necessary. Eons later, they finally found a somewhat familiar face.

“Look, it’s Fiona!” Dorian pointed excitedly, and they rushed over to her cell. But she reeled back in horror, her hand flying to her mouth to keep her scream contained. She was… the red lyrium was… it was _growing out of her._

“Fiona? Can you recognize us?” Dorian asked tentatively, making the other elf lift her head with a pained moan. Her eyes were dulled, unfocused and for a moment Soufehla feared that she too was gone like the others. But then her weak voice croaked out.

“You… you’re alive? How? I saw you… disappear… into the Rift…” Her voice was thin and hoarse, screechy almost like a demon’s. But Soufehla nearly wept with relief. There was at least one person who hadn’t gone insane in this world. There had to be more, yes?

“The date! We need the date, it’s very important.” Dorian urged her, and Fiona whimpered. “Harvestmere… 9:42 Dragon. I do not know the… exact date.”

“Nine forty- _two!_ We missed an entire year then.” Dorian muttered, but Soufehla couldn’t rip her eyes off of Fiona’s body.

“Red lyrium is growing from your body? _How?_ ” She whispered, and Fiona moaned and shook her head.

“The longer you’re near it… eventually… you become this. Then they mine your corpse for more.”

Soufehla tasted bile on her tongue. What a horrendous fate to be abandoned to. With utmost care not to touch the crimson stones, Soufehla pushed her arm through the bars while holding the crackling energy.

“You won’t feel pain.” She whispered, looking into her eyes. Fiona… she understood. Soufehla saw the immeasurable gratitude there and fought hard to keep her hand from trembling.

“You must… beware.” Fiona panted out, her desperate words clawing out of her parched throat. “Alexius… serves the Elder One. More powerful… than the Maker… No one… challenges him and lives. Your spymaster, Leliana… she is here. Find her. Quickly… before the Elder One… learns you’re here.”

“I will, Fiona.” Soufehla gathered her magic. “May your Maker give you peace by His side.” She whispered and allowed the electric bolt to fly. Fiona slumped against the wall, her grateful eyes sliding shut. But she remained upright due to the red lyrium encasing her body.

Soufehla bent over and retched once more though nothing remained inside for her to upend on the floor. Regardless her body heaved and clenched painfully, and her tears streaked down her cheeks. How many innocents had she killed today? How many lives did she end today, those that were unable to defend themselves? Her hands had never been so bloody, her honor sullied beyond hope. It may have been merciful, but Soufehla would forever feel the trembling last gasp of dying breath these people had let out as she stilled their beating hearts.

“Adahlena…”

“I know, Dorian.” She murmured, wiping away her tears and gritting her teeth. Bells in her hair chimed quietly, and her fangs lengthened until they reached her jawline. She would kill them all. Alexius would _pay_. Soufehla owed it to these people she’d murdered. Wordlessly, they continued on through this corrupted future.

There were others. Elgar’nan watch over them all, there were others. She would have preferred to see them dead.

Soufehla had never wanted to see them broken so. She has never wished such a fate for any, not even the Templars. But in this twisted future, she saw so many broken companions.

They found Sera, the young elf who was once full of vibrant life and endless mischief. Her mouth once held jokes and addictive laughter. Now it only held insane howls. Soufehla touched Sera, watched the light seep out from her eyes. Her hand trembled weakly, the gentle warmth from the girl’s body lingering on her fingertips.

Warden Blackwall, the short month she’d known him the man had been a quiet and steady presence by her side. He was an honorable man, reliable and jolly when they relaxed around the fire with a tankard of ale gripped in hand. Soufehla touched Blackwall. His soft weeping ceased. A drop of his last tear glided across her hand.

Solas, as always his sharp mind wasn’t dulled even under the influence of this poisonous lyrium. His reddened eyes sparkled as they saw her, and she felt their bond tugging at each other. But he was overgrown with lyrium, as Fiona had been. Soufehla pressed her hand to his shoulder, looked into his mysterious eyes. “Ma serannas, Adahlena.” He whispered with his last breath. _Thank you_.

Her magic stole away too many people’s lives.

And those she didn’t kill with her magic, she led to their deaths with weapons in hand.

Soufehla thanked the Creators’ for durgen’len’s natural resistance against lyrium as Varric chuckled and said everything that happened to her was weird. She embraced him before handing him Bianca she found in a nearby crate, and with a fierce angry grin he hefted the crossbow. She’d never seen him smile so before – such an angry smile that was familiar upon her own face.

Soufehla found Bull looking angrier than ever. The corruption clung to the giant man, but Bull looked to them and said he hoped to die fighting. Soufehla passed him a greatsword, flinched at the burning resolve she saw there. Soufehla knew then the man would die following her into battle.

Cassandra looked to her with bloodshot eyes gleaming with hope and faith. For once, Soufehla did not mind the weight of the title ‘Herald’ the woman placed on her shoulders. She grasped her hand in a firm shake then handed her a sword and a shield.

“I am sorry, Adahlena.” She spoke, her voice so defeated, so painfully crushed. “Your clan mates were killed, for the crime of being your clan.”

Soufehla saw them then, her beloved clan mates’ heads staked on pikes throughout the length of the castle’s winding hallways. The jagged edges of their necks showed how they’d been torn from their bodies, eyes and tongues rotted away. Soufehla kneeled and howled when she found the face of Deshanna, her once-bright orange eyes gouged out and elven ears cut round like a shem’s.

_Fen’Harel’s caught my scent. I have brought him upon my clan._

The shadows of those who were once her companions spoke of the demon army that threw the South into chaos. Lucky you died early, Bull muttered. Soufehla barely heard him past the pounding of her heart, the rushing of blood in her ears.

Creators give her strength, she grew weaker and fainter by the second. Red lyrium in the air sapped at her will, whispered darkest, foulest thoughts into her ears. Her hand throbbed, her Mark sent spikes of agony stabbing through her body. The Rifts ate away at her soul, sent claws of burning pain into her arm.

Soufehla found the torture chambers.

She realized she’d been merciful to the Templars she’d slaughtered in comparison. Countless bodies decorated this horrendous part of the castle, blood and gore seeped into the dark stone floors itself after tortured victims’ lifeblood had pooled for immeasurable hours. Even in this black, flickering shadows dancing across the walls of the torture chambers, she could see that not an inch of this placed remained free of blood splatter.

Soufehla shoved the torturers into their own devices and set them on fire. It was a kind death for them. Too many victims wore the Inquisition’s colors.

Soufehla found Leliana.

Leliana was poisoned with the same venom as her – never ceasing rage that roared inside them. The beautiful, deadly woman had withered up, twisted and angered until nothing but roaring rage remained. Her once-exotic face was now no better than a ghoul’s. She grieved that this strong woman suffered so. She handed her a bow. The party kept on moving silently, not even a whisper of breath stirring the suffocating atmosphere.

The demons came.

They cackled, screeched, howled as they attacked. Endless stream poured out from the Rifts, and Soufehla bit her lips, clenched her jaw and closed them one by one. The pain tore through her arm, left it numb and shaking pathetically. She panted with crippling exhaustion, but forced through it all. She could not moderate the numbers of Rifts she closed. There was no other choice in this nightmare.

More innocents died, new victims suffered as they forced their way across the castle grounds. Soufehla shrieked for Linnea to stop, but the Mage split a man’s chest open and summoned the demons to fight against her. She froze Linnea’s arms and shattered them as she screamed. More blood stained her hands.

Alexius. He would pay for this.

Soufehla found a red lyrium monster. It had golden hair, like the Templar back in Haven.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing fanart done by [replicajester](http://replicajester.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Many, many thanks!!!


	14. In'atorisathe'telahnem (tan) - In Hushed Whispers (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning: Graphic Description of Violence**  
>  REMEMBER, I POSTED TWO CHAPTERS. If you haven't seen Soufehla landing on her ass, you skipped a chapter. GO BACK ONE AND READ IT!!!
> 
> Art on the top by [captainceranna](http://captainceranna.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!! <3 thank you oh so very much!!!
> 
> Art on the bottom by [ragingsharknado](http://ragingsharknado.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!!! It looks amazing!!!

He floats.

He floats within himself, listening to the ever constant music of that deep, crimson song. He tries to protect a small part of him, tries to flee deep into his being where he has locked up the very essence of himself. The last line of defense within him against that crimson song. But the song pelts at his conscience, rips away his barriers and delves deep into him, digs its corrupt claws into his heart.

The song has taken away everything. His body is overgrown with red lyrium; his hands no longer have fingers that can grip a sword pommel. Instead, they are jagged crystals of razor sharp lyrium that encases his sickly skin. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, and some days the words are too much for his thickened tongue. Sometimes all he can do is grunt angrily.

He has also given into anger. The deep song that winds around him constantly, the beautiful song that sings to his very core urges him to be angry, to be furious at any and all. He has given in to that blistering rage.

And most of all, he has lost himself. He does not remember much from the time before there was red in his veins. He cannot recall the kind smiles of his family. He has lost the names of his precious few loved ones. He cannot even recall the name of that Mage he was once infatuated with. He only knows that she was Surana, and that she existed.

He only knows she existed because the demons come to torment him as they did so in Kinloch Hold. Because the desire demons never leave him be. But instead of… Surana, it's Lavellan. It's her glistening black hair they wear. It's her blackest eyes with the barest hint of amethyst that look on to him with vilest intent of seduction and corruption. They come and they go, wearing her perfectly smooth and tanned skin.

Sometimes they act as if they're truly Lavellan. They cry and weep for his pain and try to comfort him. Other times they blatantly flaunt her naked flesh at him, stroking her soft curves and leering at his screwed shut eyes.

But he's seen it all before, at the Kinloch Hold with… with that other elf.

He doesn't understand why he remembers Lavellan, whom he had only known for roughly a month. They had barely exchanged more than a few dozen words before she was lost to the world. But it is her he recalls with crystalline clarity while everything else fades away into murky depths of angry haze. It is his memories of her that allows him to endure through this endless nightmare.

The torment is beyond what he's suffered at Ferelden Circle though. He'd endured through the demons and lyrium withdrawals with sheer willpower, unwilling to break under the influence of blood Mages and demons like the stubborn brute he is. But this torture does not compare to Kinloch Hold. The song gnaws away at his mind, takes away his memories, shreds his essence to pieces. They take away himself until nothing but the crimson song and blinding fury remains. More often than not, he is tempted to end it all. To turn his corrupted lyrium claws onto himself, to pass away into oblivion. Anything to escape that relentless song singing in his mind. But her quiet, blazing eyes of violet starry sky stares at him intently from his few remaining memories, and Cullen finds the will to endure for another five minutes or so. And somehow those five minutes have amounted to a year.

Quite often agonized screams ring out all the way to his cell. It's usually the same woman – woman he knows well. Leliana. He hears her pained howls and grits his teeth, his already raging fury flaring up even hotter. But he reigns himself in, keeps himself from launching against the cell bars. He instead sits still and suffers through her torture, waiting. Always waiting. For one chance. For one critical chance to turn his raging wrath upon the enemies, to give them a taste of what’s been done to him. He had a mind of a tactician once. He’d protected that small part of him with fervor, allowing the song to take away his sweet memories so that he would recognize a chink in the Elder One’s armor when it comes. So that he may deal one last devastating blow against those who’d killed Lavellan and brought the world to its wretched end.

But the demons come as always, and Cullen suffers. He groans and turns his head away from the images the demons conjure up, whispers hoarsely. He’s having a good day today – his guttural grunts eventually form a semblance of words.

“Be gone, demons. You will not break me.” He croaks. Once, he had the strength to shout out against the demons. Now he whispers those familiar words, the words he’d repeated again and again since the Kinloch Hold.

“I did not break a decade ago in Ferelden Circle. You will not break me now. Kill me and be done with it or leave me be.”

One of the demons kneels by his cell bars, grips the iron tightly. Her face – it’s aged and dried up horrendously. He’s seen ghouls with better color. But there is no mistaking that red hair for anybody else. It’s a demon wearing Leliana’s skin.

“Cullen,” the demon whispers and he shakes his head. “Be gone.” He grinds out weakly.

“Cullen, you endured in Ferelden Circle until Hisul’em and I rescued you.” The demon-Leliana croaks out, and he hears the thick tears coloring her voice. Is this a high desire demon? There are long forgotten feelings stirring deep within him in response to her voice – feelings that aren’t choking rage.

“You did not break in Kinloch Hold. You did not break here. You waited – as you did back then – for me to come by with a Dalish elf in tow. I know you’ve waited a long time here, but I come now bearing a Dalish elf. We are real, Cullen. As we have told you a decade ago, we are real.” This Leliana does not cry, does not weep. But he hears the crushing anguish in this demon’s voice – and his frozen heart stutters weakly.

“You come bearing the image of a dead woman, demon. I will not break. I have endured before, I will not fall for your simple tricks.” He grunts out, words slurring into an almost incomprehensible garble. But it does not matter. The demons will leave eventually, even if he does not speak the words. They always leave, and they always come back.

“Leliana… he’s gone.” Her quiet voice rings out, and Cullen groans. Oh, how real her voice sounds. How sweet her voice sounds in this waking nightmare.

“Cullen, we never found her body. Adahlena’s body was never recovered. She is here, as am I. We are real.”

Lavellan’s body. He remembers that. He had always been saddened he’d never seen her again after the angry spat in the war room.

He turns his head around, examines the demons closely. They look different than usual – this Lavellan is not clean. She does not look even remotely sexual. She is dirty, covered in blood, gore, and Maker-knows-what. Her terrified dark eyes hold the numb shock of all the horrors lurking in this world. The demons never depicted her so before.

“Leliana…?” He gutters out, moves to stand weakly. The lyrium crystals on his body groan and creak. “Truly… real?”

The ghoulish Leliana nods, her stormy gray eyes blazing with fury he feels within himself. Perhaps a year ago they would have made a weak attempt at a joke of her being late – or of him being rescued by her and a Dalish elf again – but this isn’t a year ago. This is after the Breach in the sky has swallowed the entire world, after the Elder One has triumphed and Maker is gone. There is no room for anything but mindless rage.

“Can you fight, Templar?” Lavellan snaps, takes a step backward as he comes closer. A year ago, he may have smiled. He may have protested the title. But this is now, and there is nothing but the blood-red song.

“I can kill.” He laughs, angry and hollow. The small piece of strength locked away inside surges forth to fuel his blistering rage. The chance has come, to get _vengeance_.

He stays ahead of the rest, pushes forward relentlessly. He turns his endless rage against these Tevinter bastards and demons who have implanted this scorching anger inside him. He kills and kills, snarls and drools as savage wrath encompasses him. He stays ahead of the group, so that if he turns on them in mindless blood lust, they may strike him down easily.

It is a little easier to remember when she speaks. Her quiet voice echoes in the castle halls while she questions Leliana of the world. He does not speak, he does not turn around. He only kills and kills, and prays to the Maker who he knows isn't listening that his mind may not snap and slaughter them all.

She screams in pain as she closes the Rifts one by one. Her scream tears at him, drives him mad. He tries not to skewer her with his lyrium claws. He tries not to embrace her with his lyrium claws.

Dorian and Lavellan shout and demand for an explanation at the sight of sickly green sky pulsing with magic. Cullen kills the demons and tries to remember the people behind him are his comrades.

Dorian and Lavellan loot lifeless bodies for crystals. Cullen slams himself into a wall before he can attack them. The crimson song sings, it floats. But the gentle chimes of bells woven into her hair counters it, pulls him through the thick rotting air of this castle, back to that time a year ago when he knew something beyond red rage. There was a time when crimson song did not sing in his mind.

The door creaks open, and he and Leliana surges through as one. Leliana snaps Felix’s neck while he launches himself against the Magister. He would kill him. He would murder him. He would butcher everything.

The demons’ claws skid across his lyrium-infused skin. Alexius’s magic erupts and somehow there’s a magical barrier keeping him safe. He shrieks maniacally, insanely charges the Mage. He howls, grunts, knows nothing beyond the crimson song singing, singing, singing in his mind.

He kills and kills, shreds every living thing that is within his reach. He doesn’t remember the time before the red. He knows nothing but the red coursing through his veins. Blood flows freely, a massacre in this empty throne room, the darkest hour crawling, slithering to a stop. Red, so much red, crimson blood, crimson lyrium, demons morph, terror, despair, sloth, rage, all lumping into formless hump and he kills, kills, kills them all. He loses himself in that comforting berserk rage.

Until a pair of terrified black eyes stare up at him.

His lyrium fist smashes into the wall, shatters with ear-splitting ringing right beside her head as it narrowly misses crushing her skull. He howls, feels the toxic wrath roaring inside him, but her terrified eyes and jingling bells pulls at that little piece inside that he’s protected for the past year with the image of her locked in his head.

“Templar…” She gasps, looks up at him with those horrified eyes. He sees immense pain and fear swimming in their depths, as if she hadn’t skipped the past year while the world went mad.

“Lavellan,” he croaks. He is glad this is a good day. He is glad his thickened tongue allows this painful semblance of speech. “Kill me.”

Her midnight eyes widen, her bloody torn lips part enough to take in an audible breath. Her gleaming fangs catch his eyes.

“Kill me, please.” He begs, he pleads, he cries.

“Why… why would you…” She shakes her head, backs up against the wall behind her.

“ _I swore!_ ” He roars, lifts his head up to the heavens and screams with all his might. “I have… given you my word! That I will not harm you!” His fist pounds against the cracked stone wall, and it crumbles. “Lavellan… do not, let me… break my word… kill… kill me now. Before, be... before I… harm you.”

She gapes at him, and for the first time Cullen doesn’t see the blinding rage inside her. For the first time since he’s met her a year ago, she is not angry in his presence.

“I’ve sworn not to harm you, unless you broke your word.” She whispers, her fangs receding as she presses them into her bloody lips. “I… I do not… I don’t want to. I can’t kill you, I _can’t._ ”

He grunts angrily, prays for the ability to speak normally.

“I release you from your Oath. Kill me, Lavellan. _Please._ ” He hisses through his gnashed teeth.

She stares at him, trapped between his heavy armor and the crumbling wall behind her back. Her wide eyes glisten with tears.

“You will die, Templar. Do you not fear death?” She whispers, breathy and strained.

“ _I_ died… a long time ago. Only this sick perv… perversion of myself remains here.”

“Do you… wish for anything? Before you go?” She asks hesitantly, her voice wavering. He has never heard her so uncertain before.

“No, nothing. Just… just smile with me, Lavellan.” He growls.

She stares at him, incredulous. And Cullen shakes his head, knows of the permanent frown etched onto his mouth from the red lyrium.

“I've never seen you smile, Lavellan. I do not… expect to see it now. But once you… return… to your time, smile with me. Not… for me, but with me. One day.”

She raises her unMarked hand, trembling uncontrollably. It crackles with electricity, white and violet, sizzles around her slender fingers as she brings it slowly closer to his cheek. Clear drop of tear glides down her bloody cheek.

The crimson song fades away, finally, from his mind. It screeches, pounds against his thoughts but her presence fills his head, tugs gently at long-forgotten time before the red. The anger slightly gives way to wistful memories of his short time spent with her in Haven.

“We… never found out anything about you. Not even your true name.” He rasps slowly, repeats the few words that morphs into heavy grunts. Cullen raises his lyrium claw, mirrors her motion. How he wishes he had fingers once more, to stroke her soft hair with. To rub her gentle skin with. But he does not touch her, not with the corrupt lyrium claw.

“You know Adahlena isn't my name?” Her fluttering lashes sparkle like diamonds in the dim light, her dewy tears clinging precariously.

He grunts. Perhaps a year ago it would have been a short bark of amused laugh. But it's an angry grunt now. “I have suspected.”

“I see.”

He would die now, by her hands. Not by the red coursing through his veins. He has struck a devastating blow against the Elder One, as he’d hoped to. He has helped to get Lavellan here, to get her back to her own time in the past. It is an end for him better than he could ever have hoped for.

“Thank you, Lavellan.” He croaks, and she jerks back.

“I have done nothing to earn your gratitude, Templar.”

“You… have given me a chance to… die fighting, while protecting what I can. You have given… me a chance to… be myself again before death. You took away the song, the anger. Thank… you, Lavellan.”

Her hand inches up to his face, slow and hesitant. She seems almost fearful of her own spell, the crackling magic tingling over his clammy skin as she holds her hand gingerly.

“I swear you will not feel pain, Templar. May your Maker release you from all this mortal suffering.” She cries, sincere and true.

He never looks away from her beautiful eyes, and she never breaks the contact.

He dies staring into her kind eyes, and he hears the whispered breath lingering in the air. Her final parting gift for him.

_Soufehla. What a beautiful name._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've read many fanfics where Cullen was present in the dark future. But I don't think I've _ever_ read a fic where it was written from his POV, so I wanted to give it a try. I hope you guys found it as unsettling as I did.
> 
> Please leave comments? I'd love to hear what you guys thought of this particular chapter.


	15. Suledin - Endure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was a Mage. She called him a Templar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is elvhen in Cullen's POV (or anybody else who doesn't speak elvhen), I'll provide the translations at the end notes.
> 
> The shot of Haven at night where this chapter happens was provided by lovely [cantkeepmyeyesoff](http://cantkeepmyeyesoff.tumblr.com/). Her screencaps are breathtaking! You guys should check her out.

“Adahlena did _what?!”_

The runner shuffled his feet nervously as Leliana glared.

“Ser, this was all that came from Redcliffe.”

He held out the small note for her to take it, and Leliana read it out loud for him and Josephine to hear.

“ _Everything went according to the plan. Wolf has conscripted the Mages into the Inquisition. Her party is riding hard - expect her arrival within a few hours of this report.”_

“Conscripted?” Josephine echoed worriedly, though Cullen let out a heavy breath in relief.

“What was she thinking? Conscripting the Mages-”

“Will limit the number of possessed Mages we must deal with.” Cullen interrupted. “If we had Mages running about so close to the Breach completely unchecked, there would have been countless number of possession cases! We won’t be like the Circle, but it is reasonable to take necessary precautions. Lavellan did well.”

“But how long until the Mages demand freedom again? Adahlena may have set events in motion that will lead to another Mage rebellion!”

“But mistress Lavellan wouldn’t have worked out the finer details at the Redcliffe castle. We may still prevent that from happening through negotiations at Haven.” Josephine murmured, looking down at her small board. No doubt the Ambassador’s workload had just tripled, just as Cullen’s.

“Either way, we have a few hours till she comes…” Cullen trailed off as Jim crashed into the war room.

“Ser! The Herald has returned! And she’s… well, she seems heavily injured ser.”

Heavily injured. _Maker._

He immediately pushed past Jim, barging out of the room. He _knew_ she shouldn’t have gone to see the Mages with such a small support force! Andraste preserve him, if she’d been critically wounded… if they’d rushed back to get her to a healer… Lavellan must have nearly run her horse to the ground to have arrived so soon.

_But why do you care so much?_

A poisonous voice itched at his skull, an ugly thought worming its way into his swirling mind.

_She’s the Herald. Without her, we cannot close the Rifts. She is irreplaceable._

He firmly pushed the voice away as he blew past the startled guards, his Templar trainings kicking in. Mental discipline was as much a part of training as swordplay was.

The heavy Chantry door creaked open with a low grinding noise and Lavellan stepped through. He froze on the spot, his eyes taking in her bloody state. Maker’s breath, she looked as if she’d been tossed in a river of blood. He crushed the urge to rush to her side, to aid her in some way, to protect her from whatever had attempted to harm her.

_Is that the_ only _reason?_ The voice sneered before he promptly banished it, focusing on the matters at hand.

“Oh!” Josephine exclaimed next to him, both women having followed out of the war room. Leliana seemed quite surprised as well. Her spies had suggested that there hadn’t been any extensive fighting at the Redcliffe castle. So why did she look as if she’d gone to the death’s doorstep and back?

Lavellan limped towards them, leaning heavily onto Dorian. Both of them were crusted in dried blood, sweat, and… was that demon ichor? His eyes met Dorian’s, and Cullen stiffened at the flickering shadows lurking there. It was a look he recognized all too well – his own eyes had looked just so after the nightmare at the Kinloch Hold. Andraste guide him, what had happened to them?

“Commander,” Cassandra nodded at him, her eyes worried.

“Seeker, what had happened?” He demanded, taking in her pristine armor. She looked tired, but not the bone-deep weariness that seemed to be dragging down Lavellan and Dorian.

“I… don’t know. They refused to say, until we returned.” Cassandra shrugged.

“Oh, it’s not like we don’t enjoy reliving that nightmare over and over again. We’re just being _stubborn._ ” Dorian scowled at Cassandra. No doubt the woman had harassed them the entire way back.

“Lavellan?” He asked gently, seeking her eyes. She wearily lifted her head and met his gaze.

And flinched.

She shrank back into Dorian who wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Leliana and Josephine exchanged bewildered looks, though Cassandra simply shook her head. Hadn’t Lavellan been suspicious of Dorian just few days ago?

“Let’s take this to the war room.” Leliana sighed, motioning for them all. Slowly Dorian and Lavellan stumbled forward, their sagging shoulders and dragging feet worrying him. Soon they were back inside the room with the door firmly closed.

“So?” Leliana asked and when neither of the Mages answered Cassandra stepped up.

“Everything went according to the plan-”

Lavellan snorted.

“Except, Alexius seemed to cast some sort of spell.” Cassandra ignored her. “A Rift briefly opened up and closed, and when the air cleared of smoke these two had become suddenly bloody. Alexius surrendered, and Adahlena conscripted the Mages to the Inquisition.”

“Lavellan? What happened?” He tried once again, turning towards the slender elf. She shivered under his gaze, her pointed ears drooping like a wounded pup’s. He’d never seen her so… drained before, not even after she spent an entire week fighting through the Storm Coast.

“Alexius tried to remove her from the fabric of time completely.” Dorian started off instead, drawing everyone’s attention. “If that happened, Adahlena would never have been at the Conclave, would never have foiled this Elder One’s plans. I stepped in, magic went wild, and boom we’re sent into a future where everybody is either dead, crazy, or tortured. Lovely sightseeing.”

“Elder One?” Josephine asked, just as Seeker echoed “Future?”

Lavellan finally spoke with a wavering voice, and he noticed that she slipped her hand into Dorian’s, giving it a tight squeeze.

_Focus._ He admonished himself, pulling his thoughts away with some difficulty.

“A year into the future, where… where the Breach wasn’t sealed. The sky was swallowed up by it. Red lyrium everywhere, Empress Celene assassinated, and soon after a demon army tore through the South.”

“Demon army?!” He gaped at her. Maker’s breath, he’d seen enough of demons to last a life time. But an entire army composed of tireless demons wreaking havoc… he shuddered.

“Leliana told me that you led one final charge against the demons. You killed many of them, far more than any other and weakening the army temporarily but was captured in the end. You… well, all of you were…” Lavellan trailed off, her dark eyes growing murky with memories, her ears quite literally pointing towards the floor at this point. He hadn’t realized her ears were so responsive to her moods, as they were usually laid flat back around him. Then Dorian gently pulled her into his embrace.

_Focus._

“Sufficient to say, returning to our present came at a heavy price.” She murmured thickly, her hand inching up a tentative trail to grip at Dorian’s arm.

Leliana immediately launched into questioning her, cross-examining every last bit of information she dragged out from Lavellan’s tired lips. Cullen watched her with attentive eyes, listening to the dreadful words dripping from her all the while ignoring how the two Mages clung to each other until their knuckles whitened. With every word Lavellan spoke, she seemed to shrink even smaller, her strength ebbing away the longer she talked. Her mysterious eyes flickered over to him once in a while, and she grasped at Dorian harder every time she did so.

Eventually her long report on this ‘dark future’ was finished for the moment and the meeting ended, Dorian and Lavellan disappearing promptly after. Cullen considered chasing after them to ask after her being before he shook his head.

_She is not critically injured. The Mages will heal her, and she’ll be fine._

He trudged over to the training soldiers outside the Haven’s gates, resuming command over his men.

_But she’s never been so dispirited before. How well is she,_ really _?_

The sinister whispers tickled his mind again and though he kept his face still with iron will, the voice did not seep away this time. With a sigh, Cullen decided he would call on her later at night, when she’d had a chance to rest after that harrowing ordeal.

_It is to determine the state of the Inquisition’s sole weapon against the Breach. Nothing more._

Even the icy wind that blew through Haven mocked his feeble excuse.

* * *

Soufehla fled.

There was no other way to describe the way she bolted from that stuffy war room, from the concerned gaze of the golden Templar. For hours she’d suffered through feeling his eyes on her, knew he looked to her with genuine concern.

Those same sincere eyes he’d stared at her with, when she’d murdered him.

Soufehla shivered, the icy wind biting mercilessly through her bloodied furry armor straight to her skin. The cold was even more noticeable here by the frozen lake – there were no fires dancing, no tall cabins breaking the relentless gust. Just miles and miles of white snow-capped mountains and crystal-blue ice sparkling in the dim moonlight. Soufehla choked out a small sob, her hand pressed over her mouth to muffle the pathetic noise.

She’d _literally_ fallen into the hated role of Herald of Andraste. Soufehla had never wanted this Mark, despised it for taking her away from the beautiful forests and animals she roamed with. She hated it for pulling her out of her beloved clan, for tossing her into this quaint village with shems and flat-ears.

She’d known in her mind, that she was needed to close these Rifts. She’d thought she understood the need, and had allowed these Inquisition advisors to use her. She had thought she understood what was at stake here. But no, she hadn’t known. Not even close.

She felt a single teardrop gliding down her frozen cheek, as her mind conjured up the vivid images of the dark future. Red lyrium growing out of people’s bodies, the Inquisition companions driven to insanity under relentless torture, her clan mates’ rotting heads thrust on pikes and displayed as trophies for the crime of being the Herald of Andraste’s lethallens.

She’d never realized what her failure would lead the world into. Soufehla trembled weakly, her Marked hand throbbing. She’d pushed herself too far in the future, had closed way too many Rifts than she was physically able to. More tears followed after the first drop, wetting her icy cheeks and freezing almost the moment it left her eyes in the winter cold. Soufehla finally felt the pressure – Thedas was depending on her. Not just her clan, not just her wolves. Every living being in this world would suffer, if she did not close the Breach. She wept, burying her face into her arms. Creators, how was she supposed to do this by herself? How was she supposed to save the world all on her own?

A warm hand settled on her shoulder and Soufehla started violently. She looked up to see Dorian’s worried face and wiped furiously at her eyes. Fen’Harel’s teeth, how had she not heard him approach? She must truly be out of it if she allowed a shem to sneak up on her.

Dorian sat down beside her. “If you are going to be out here any longer, you’ll freeze to death.”

She turned her head away from him, embarrassment flaring up hotly at having been caught at such a vulnerable state.

“We just got back from the future that showed what would happen if you were to die now. Please don’t make me go through that again.” Dorian commented wryly.

Soufehla barked out a half-sob laugh at that, his unexpected words startling her out of this numbness. She supposed it was true – if she were to freeze to death out here, the same events would come to pass.

“Truly though, are you alright?” Dorian pulled her hand into his and gave a gentle squeeze. She looked to his concerned eyes, saw the same shadows haunting him. Another drop of treacherous tears flowed.

Shame burned at the tip of her pointy ears at revealing such a helpless side to a shem, a Tavinte at that. But Dorian suddenly embraced her, patted her back gently as he murmured softly into her ear. “Let it all out, love. Don’t worry about it, and just let it all out.”

And with that, Dorian shattered the last guard Soufehla had erected around herself. She clutched at his robes and half screamed her fears away, sobbing and weeping as horrible memories of the future engulfed her. Dorian stroked her hair softly, his embrace tender around her shaking body. Soufehla cried for a long time, clinging desperately to her new friend.

Eventually Soufehla calmed down. Her cries quieted into sniffles, then to silent pants. She felt as if her body had wrung out all the moisture inside when Dorian pulled her up and wiped her face gently with a cloth. She looked up at him, too exhausted to care about her puffy eyes and reddened, runny nose. But he simply smiled and helped her stand.

“If you are finished, shall we go shuck our bloody armors and grab a stiff drink? After that particularly distasteful experience, I think we are owed quite a bit of whiskey to wash it away with.”

“No… that’s just, no. I can’t, I seriously can _not_ deal with being drunk right now. I am going to sleep it off.” Soufehla protested, but Dorian half-dragged and half-carried her back to the tavern with a cheeky smile and a promise of ‘helpful drunkenness’ to keep the nightmares away. Soufehla supposed she protested only half-heartedly.

* * *

Cullen finally emerged from his tent, rubbing at his tired eyes and inhaling the cool night air until his lungs ached with the chill. He’d gotten much of the work done – but there was always more from where it came from and after hours of organizing and planning for the Mages and the subsequent march to the Breach, he needed a much-deserved break.

He strode towards the tavern inside the village, the thought of piping-hot ale welcome in this winter night. And perhaps afterwards he would go ask after Lavellan. The tavern was bustling with people tonight though, his soldiers nearly spilling out from the doorways and windows. He’d seldom seen the tavern so packed, and wondered as to why. His curiosity was sated soon enough when he heard a familiar wistful voice floating out over the loud roar of the crowd.

_Melava inan enansal_

_ir su araval tu elvaral_

_u na emma abelas_

_in elgar sa vir mana_

_in tu setheneran din emma na_

_lath sulevin_

_lath araval ena_

_arla vent u vir mahvir_

_melana ‘nehn_

_enasal ir sa lethallin_

Lavellan was singing in elvhen on top of a table, a mug in one hand and Dorian’s arm in another. Her curling black hair tumbled out of her tight braid, framing her angled face beautifully as she sang and danced with Inquisition cheering and swaying around her.

He nearly gaped openmouthed. He’d never seen her so uninhibited before, let alone drunk in a tavern in front of others. But the loud laughter floating about and hoots and cheers directed towards her pulled him back into himself, and he pushed through the thick sea of tangled limbs to the bar, forcibly tearing his thoughts away from the slender elf and making a point to wonder if there were any drinks left. But before he could reach Flissa behind the counter, Lavellan tripped and fell off the table, squealing and giggling as she did so. Cullen pounced and barely caught her before she hit the filthy wooden floor.

“Oh! Commander!” Dorian laughed as he leaned over to see where Lavellan had fallen off to.

“Dorian.” He nodded at him, while trying to put the drunken Mage in his arms on her feet. Cullen tried his utmost to keep his mind full of professional thoughts, not of how light she felt in his arms, or how sweet she smelled.

She scowled at him before lurching away with unsteady steps.

“How many drinks did she have?” Cullen asked, but Dorian beamed and went right back to drinking as well.

“Far too many of the strongest and foulest the tavern had to offer, Commander.”

Cullen turned around to find Krem and Bull sitting in a corner, a wooden mug gripped in each of their hands as well. Krem inclined his head towards him.

“Something about the Boss drinking away nightmares. She can _really_ drink when she sets her mind to it.” Bull stared at Lavellan with clearly impressed – and lust-filled – gaze, and Cullen decided that it was perhaps best for the elven Mage to retire for the evening.

“I’m taking her to her bed.” He moved to scoop her up from the floor where she’d sprawled, tugging gently as Varric and Sera hooted.

“You do that.” Blackwall grinned as well, and Cullen soon pushed through the thick crowd to step out into the chilly night once more. He didn’t dare put her back on her feet – she was in no state to walk. But even now Lavellan protested weakly in his arms, wiggling and swinging her legs to sneak out of his hold.

“Lavellan, stop _squirming!”_ Cullen readjusted his grip on her, holding her tighter lest he drop her on the gravelly earth. But to his alarm she started to pull magic towards her and he tensed.

“Templar lyrium… blood song…” She sighed, mumbling the words which set his teeth on edge. A despicable throb of need thrummed at her words, but then her obsidian eyes stared unseeingly into his face and Cullen forgot for a moment how to breathe.

In his arms she lay, her slender form fitting perfectly, her warm breath soft on his cheek. She had a sweet scent, alluring, enticing, and captivating as it wafted about him. How had he never noticed that before? Light snow flakes settled in her dark locks between the tiny bells, the pure white stark against her ebony mane like twinkling stars dotting the heavens at twilight. With her silken hair splayed against his furred cloak, Lavellan stared up at him with her deep eyes and stole away his breath.

Maker, she was… beautiful, almost unearthly so. And yet there was a tiny thorn prickling at the place where his heart must be.

“Templar…” She whispered, a shimmering drop of tear glistening at the corner of her eyes. And there was no way to mistake the anguish coiled around her voice, laced thick with pain.

Templar. She still called him a Templar.

With a firm shake of his head Cullen briskly walked to the small wooden cabin Lavellan was living in, each of his step accompanied by the jingles from the silver bells in her hair. The Mage had made it perfectly clear she wanted nothing to do with him beyond what was absolutely necessary to keep the world from falling apart. He would not force his presence on her.

Cullen pushed against the door with his back, making it creak open. He then kicked the door closed, walked over to the small bed by the corner, and gently laid her down on it. She tossed and turned, mumbling something in elvhen.

“Lavellan, would you _please_ stay still for just one moment?” He grumbled as he clumsily undid the straps holding her boots in place. Her elven clothing was strange enough to be difficult even without her squirming endlessly.

After he finally removed the boots and placed them by the edge of her bed, he rolled her over to pull her staff off her back to lean it against the wall nearby. He then pulled her thick coat off of her, and started at what lay beneath.

She’d washed off most of the blood and gore but countless tiny cuts littered her tanned skin, one especially nasty looking wound twisting up her left arm and down below her shirt. He saw the signs of haphazard healing done over the injury, and yet it wasn’t enough. Why hadn’t she healed these before arriving at Haven? He gently touched her arm to lift it, to get a better look. But she groaned painfully, twisting away from his probing hands. Undoubtedly she was still in pain. He shook his head, wondering if it would be best to rouse her, or to let her rest for the night. Tomorrow morning he would insist on Solas taking a look at her, he decided.

He folded the coat neatly and placed it over her chair before turning back to her slender figure on the bed. Cullen didn’t feel particularly safe about undressing her any further though, and instead he peeled back the blankets to cover her.

A dagger fell out of the covers, unsheathed.

Maker’s breath. Did she always sleep with a blade? With a sigh he placed the dagger on the end table before tucking the covers up to her chin. He made certain the dagger was within reach for her though. He too slept with a dagger under his pillow, since the Kinloch Hold.

After he fluffed her pillow – and found yet another knife – Cullen stepped back and gave a curious look around the room. There was nothing to indicate anything about Lavellan, the room even more barren than his own sparsely furnished tent. He realized that she probably hadn’t brought any of her personal effects with her to the Conclave. Only her strange elven clothes lay neatly folded on a table. She’d claimed that a nearby Dalish clan had provided them for her, when she’d disappeared for a week. Practical gears she needed to survive countless battles she rode into on nearly daily basis nowadays. But she had not one thing to remember her people by, tossed into this maelstrom with nothing but her magic to keep her safe.

A quiet sigh sounded from the bed and he looked over to see Lavellan shifting. Her head fell across the pillow to expose the tender skin on the nape of her neck, her rosy lips parting as she breathed, though she screwed up her face in a tight grimace. Even as he watched she rolled on to her side, before abruptly turning around to face him once more and then kicked at the blanket. The prominent crease between her eyebrows did not smooth away, and Cullen recognized the telltale signs of a nightmare immediately.

Cullen hesitated a moment, before he dragged a wooden stool over from her table next to the bed. He, of all people, knew of the terrors of frightful dreams. He dropped down on it and leaned his elbows onto the mattress, resting his head on his palm. Lavellan tossed again, clawing at the covers he’d drawn up around her.

Slowly, quietly, he began to sing.

As a young boy who’d received Chantry education, Cullen had learned how to sing early on. It wasn’t quite the most useful skill he possessed and had neglected to practice it since the last time he’d been in Ferelden. His singing voice came out low and hesitant, somewhat dusty from disuse, but Lavellan was asleep, trapped within the Fade and did not complain.

He sang quietly of the lush green forests and a clear blue lake, of scary old lady living in a hut far away, and of pretty boy and pretty girl walking while holding hands. He did not sing of the Maker, nor of His Holy Bride. He’d never sung the lullabies from his childhood since the day he left for the monasteries – but he did not think Lavellan would like to hear the hymns dedicated to the God she was coerced into becoming an icon for. So he sang of warm summer time and of silly young goatherds dallying with village beauty while foolishly forgetting to tend to his herd.

Lavellan’s thrashes diminished as he recounted the lyrics from hazy memories, her tightly clenched body relaxing, her balled fists opening. Cullen continued to hum the melodies as he readjusted the covers around her, tucking in the edges to keep the cold air out. Her breaths came evenly, washing over his face while he leaned over her to straighten the crumpled sheets. Her expression finally grew peaceful, her grimace being wiped away. The tip of her pink tongue was visible through her slightly parted lips, and the unexpected sight of her unguarded mouth sped his pulse, her serene expression warming him from within.

His treacherous mind wondered how she would feel pressed up against his own lips. His fingers twitched involuntarily as he imagined stroking her soft hair with them, rubbing her gentle skin with them. Would she tremble under his touch? Or would she surge forth to capture his mouth in a kiss?

Cullen bolted from the room, closing the door behind him a little too harshly. The freezing air greeted his heated flesh, the cool winter night calming his stirring desire. He welcomed it, allowed it to curb the irrational longing that had gripped his body. She was a Mage, not to mention the title of Herald. No matter how vehemently she denied it, Lavellan was a holy symbol most of the Inquisition aspired to. He could not afford to allow such thoughts to plague his mind. With a shuddering breath Cullen walked back to his own tent slowly, fervently trying to erase the image of Lavellan on her bed from his memory with one thought locked in his head.

She called him Templar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Soufehla sings in the tavern is called Suledin. It is about enduring and emerging from sorrow, tied to the elve's loss of their ancient lands, but it is also adapted to personal struggles as well. This is a very loose translation into the King's Tongue. -World of Thedas bk. 1
> 
> **Suledin**  
>  _Time was once a blessing_  
>  _but long journeys are made longer_  
>  _when alone within._  
>  _Take spirit from the long ago_  
>  _but do not dwell in lands no longer yours._
> 
> _Be certain in need,_  
>  _and the path will emerge_  
>  _to a home tomorrow_  
>  _and time will again_  
>  _be the joy it once was_


	16. Haurasha'Rajelan - The Golden Commander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No. Leave me alone.” She moaned, clutching tighter at the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!!!! <3

Soufehla woke with a pounding headache hammering inside her skull. She groaned pitifully, shielding her eyes from the light spilling in through the windows into her room. Fen’Harel be damned, why was it so bright?

“Wolf? Wolfie! You alive in there?”

Insistent knocks against her door thundered through her small cabin, and she turned around to bury her head under the pillow.

“Fenedhis lasa! Go away, Varric.” She grumbled out, pressing the soft pillow against her all-too-sensitive ears.

A low chuckle rumbled before her door clicked open and she heard people entering. She let out another low-pitched whine in protest.

“So love, how are you feeling this fine afternoon?” Dorian’s smug voice sounded and Soufehla poked her face out from under the pillow just long enough to stick her tongue out before burrowing back under the covers.

“Ah, I see. All went according to the plan then.” He laughed, sitting down on a stool right by the bed.

“I am _never_ listening to you, ever again.” Soufehla hissed, groaning long and loud. “My head feels like Bull cracked it open with his axe. Why are you so cheery? Stop being so sparkly.”

“Magic.” He waved dismissively with an infuriating smirk.

“Come on, up you go.” Varric ripped off her thick blankets, tugging at her to pull her out from the bed.

“No. Leave me alone.” She moaned, clutching tighter at the pillow.

“We brought tea.” Solas’ gentle chuckle tickled her ears, and she cracked an eye open and pushed the pillow away to stare at the cup the elf held out for her.

“And food.” Dorian added, waving a few pieces of jerkies for her to see.

“Fine.” She grumbled, sitting up on her bed. She tucked her legs underneath her, reaching for the cup of tea and downing it. The warmth blossomed from inside, somewhat lessening the throbbing located just behind her eyes.

“What are you guys doing in my room?” She asked, reaching out for the jerky in Dorian’s hands.

“Commander has asked me to heal you properly today.” Solas sat down by her side, reaching for her arm. She shied away instantly, wary of his touch over her painful limb.

“Adahlena?” Solas waited patiently, his upturned palm open.

“I… I can heal myself.” She muttered. The worst of her injury was visible on her left arm, twisting its way down under her shirt. A terror demon had clawed at her just as Dorian had opened the Rift, tearing her skin all the way down to her stomach. She had no wish to disrobe in front of others.

“As you wish.” Solas nodded.

“You said the Templar asked you to heal me?”

“Why, he did!” Dorian gushed. “He carried you back here last night. Such a strapping man. He must have seen the wounds while putting you to bed.”

Soufehla dropped the cup, shattering it on the floor. Varric yelped as he jumped out of the way of the serrated shards.

“ _What?”_

“Dorian…” Solas turned to face the other Mage, while Soufehla swept her room with her eyes. Her boots were off, laid neatly at the edge of the bed. Her staff leaned against the wall on the opposite side, while her thick coat was folded over her chair. Her usually-hidden daggers sat on her end table.

“You let him touch me?” She spat, her hands twisting into the bedsheets. “You let him _disrobe_ me?!”

All thoughts of her headache were gone now, as Soufehla glared furiously at Dorian and Varric while the two of them looked at each other before shuffling awkwardly.

“Art u na’din, Dorian!” She screeched, her agitated mind no longer remembering the King’s Tongue. _I will kill you!_

She leapt up from her bed, stalking towards the man as he fell off the stool and backpedaled hastily.

“Whoa, hey Wolf, calm down! Nothing happened!”

“Nothing happened!” Soufehla screamed at Varric, slapping his hands away. “Nothing happened! You let me, in a drunken, mindless state to be handled by a _Templar!_ ” Her voice rose a shriek at the last word, as panic gripped her trembling limbs. She fought viciously against the memories of that night five years ago threatening to crash into her, overtaking her sight as dark forest wavered over the wooden cabin room. Clammy hands ghosted across her skin, and goosebumps rose along her flesh as she bit her lips hard.

“Da’lan,” Solas carefully placed his hand over her shoulder, attempting to reel her back in. But she shrugged it off sharply, hissing. Three men stared warily at her, and Soufehla stilled.

She could not be here. Not right now. Her magic rioted beneath her skin, called for the golden Templar’s blood.

With a growl she whipped past the nervous gazes, storming out of her small cabin and into the deep forest. Surprised shouts soon faded behind her as she delved deeper into the woods and she shifted smoothly into a wolf once the noise was left far behind her. Her heavy paws thudded into the frosted grassy field under the trees and she scented her Assan flying overhead, her whiskers twitching sensitively. She forced herself to run faster, to streak through the darkening area with reckless speed.

Templar hands roamed over her body, probing, rubbing at every inch of her skin, thrusting in deep inside her between her legs. She growled, her claws biting into the frozen ground as she flew across the forest ground.

Memories of Templars’ touch physically pressed against her, their hands pinning her down, icy gauntlets digging painfully into her inner thighs as they wrenched her legs open. Her scalp throbbed as her hair was tugged forcefully, the hateful Templars angling her throat for their pleasure. Her wrists burned against the spiteful leather belt binding her tight.

Soufehla launched herself against a thick tree trunk, the pain slamming against the nightmarish sensations and freeing her momentarily. She fell to the ground, her head lying over the twisting tree roots as she lay panting. She wheezed, her breath wet and gurgling inside her, and she knew she had broken yet another rib. A pitiful whine slipped past her lips, and Soufehla heard Assan screech as he settled on a low branch above her.

The golden Templar had touched her. She’d allowed yet another Templar to lay his hands on her. What a disgrace she was.

Her Mark suddenly blazed, her left forepaw twitching in time with the sickly pulse flashing in the sky. She barked with humorless amusement. The dreadful thing couldn’t leave her alone even in this form. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe evenly, wishing she could make the world go away, wishing she could disappear.

But a quiet rustle disturbed the nearby bushes, a whisper of fur rubbing against a bark of a tree making her ears perk up. Soufehla sighed and lifted her head to look over to the spot, searching for whatever manner of being had distracted her from misery. But a familiar scent she hadn’t been expecting wafted towards her, and she shot to her legs.

And fell. Right, the broken rib. Then she looked up to find her wolf pack surrounding her. They barked and yipped, happy to see her, to greet her. They settled around her, nudging and huddling. Soufehla couldn’t believe it. She looked up with wild eyes to see the pack leader, standing tall. How? Why? She pressed her thoughts into the gray wolf. In response, she felt the protectiveness and acceptance radiating off of the wolves surrounding her.

Her wolves had followed her from the Free Marches, because they had been worried about her. Soufehla felt her chest swell with warmth, with gratitude as she snuggled closer to her furry family. She had needed them the most, and they had come for her, in her most vulnerable moment. She realized that they would always be there for her. They had rescued her five years ago, and they had just saved her from herself. Feeling safe for the first time in a long while, she just closed her eyes and drifted off into oblivion.

She woke again when stars were shining brightly in the sky. Yipping quietly, she got onto her paws again, this time with the help of her pack. Wolves pressed against her as she stood unsteadily, and once she was upright, Soufehla shifted back into her elven form. Instantly the icy wind cut into her, and Soufehla realized she had forgotten to put her clothes on before fleeing from the cabin and cursed inwardly.

Soufehla had to heal her injuries though, and gritting her teeth she pressed her hand to her side while coating her chest with soft green glow of healing magic. Wolves surrounded her, trying to block the wind as her magic worked. She still shivered, and Assan screeched somewhere above her. The magic spread down her torso, sweeping across and lingering over any wounds she’d received from the dark future at Redcliffe castle.

Once she finished healing herself she stood up and flexed, testing herself. Her muscles flexed fluidly and she felt satisfied. She had given up the art of healing five years ago, and yet remembered much from the time she’d dedicated herself to Vir Atish’an. No longer able to bear the cold, she shifted back into a wolf and padded back towards Haven, thanking and bidding her wolves a farewell for the night.

And came face to face with the golden Templar. Or, face to pommel, considering her new height. She jumped right back and snarled just as he backtracked quickly, putting his hands up in a non-threatening manner, his eyes wide with surprise. Creators, he’d been downwind from her and she’d been unable to scent him. Distracted as she was by her memories and her wolves, she hadn’t heard him either.

Soufehla tensed, ready to pounce away when she heard him gasp. “Maker’s breath!” She craned her head around to look at him. He had exclaimed too slowly for her sudden appearance, and wondered what else had surprised him.

She saw his eyes widen even further, looking mesmerized, and tiled her head in confusion. Slowly the golden Templar then started make his way towards her, his hands still held tentatively in front of him. Would a Fereldan normally do that? Approach a wild wolf with no weapons drawn? No, no he wouldn’t. She turned, ready to flee when he stopped again. “What a magnificent beast,” she heard him breathe out.

Soufehla didn’t understand the flash of pride that burned in her heart at those words. Her whiskers quivered and her ears twitched, and unbidden she moved one step closer to him and watched the golden Templar’s face lit up happily. He cooed softly to her, coaxing her to come closer, whispering praises and endearments she’s never heard before. But then she stopped herself. What was she doing? She should be running away as fast as she could. By the Creators, the Mark was still visible on her left forepaw. If he saw her Mark, he would know instantly who she was. She hesitated, looking for a way to escape, and called softly to her wolves prowling a short distance away.

Her pack leader approached gingerly at her begging whine for help, his steps crunching through the snow. Templar’s head whipped over to stare at the new wolf, his hand finally going to his pommel. The gray wolf circled around the human widely, and came to stand at her side. With a glance, she padded away from the Templar, careful to hide her left paw with the other wolf’s body from view. She could smell him relax when they were far away enough.

She yipped her thanks to the gray wolf before shifting back again. She was too close to the village to stay in wolf’s shape, she supposed. She shivered, again regretting her missing boots before using her magic to warm up and turned to walk the short length back to Haven.

But the Templar was alone in the woods, away from the prying eyes of the Inquisition.

Invariably her rage flared hot as Soufehla remembered the lyrium singing in his blood. But she crushed it, shoved it aside with all her will. She would not harm him, not the golden Templar. She would never harm him.

She owed him a life debt. Had it not been for his fighting prowess, she and Dorian may never have made it through the Redcliffe castle. The golden Templar had fought at the front of her small party, protected them from the harshest brunt of demons. He’d allowed his corrupted body to bear the heaviest of attacks to keep the others safe. Without him, she would have perished in the dark future.

She turned around and padded softly over to where the golden Templar stood alone in the quiet forest of night.

 

*******

 

When he was within her sight again, Soufehla realized why he was alone in the woods. The golden Templar was carrying a long bow, shooting at a tree. Well, attempting to shoot at a tree. Soufehla watched amusedly as he failed miserably at his task. He was… atrocious at it. And even as she watched he somehow managed to get an arrow caught between his cloak and the bow and accidentally unstrung it. Creators, how could anybody be so horrendous at handling a bow?

She cleared her throat, letting him know she was there. The man whirled around immediately, his hand flying towards his pommel even while he was still half-tangled with the bow. His reaction time was nothing if not impressive.

“Lavellan! Maker’s breath, I did not hear you there.” He apologized as he lowered his hand.

“I should hope not.” She shrugged.

“What are you doing in this snow with no boots on? Where’s your coat?”

“Dalish do not wear shoes often, Templar. I wished to feel the snow on my skin.” Soufehla shrugged, lying smoothly once more. She hoped he did not know enough of Dalish to fall for it. The man seemed to think better of pursuing the topic, as he clearly sensed her Immolation spells warming her. Soufehla hesitated for a moment, before she gestured towards him.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“What? Oh, this. Ah, you saw that miserable display then?” The Templar blushed, making her snort.

“At least you know it was miserable.”

The Templar looked away as he tried to untangle the mess. “Yes, well… I have never been much one for bows.”

Soufehla watched with amused amazement as he somehow entangled himself even more thoroughly. By the time he let out a frustrated sigh, the unstrung bow was wrapped around half his left arm. She folded her arms across her chest.

“Clearly.”

The Templar struggled for a few more moments before giving up. Dejected, the man reached for his dagger at his belt, obviously intending to cut the bow off him. The wicked blade glinted in the silvery moonlight, but before he could slice through the mess Soufehla stopped him.

“No, don’t. It’s a waste of a finely crafted bow and bowstring.”

“That may be so, but you’ve just witnessed my best attempt at untangling myself.” He blushed lightly, rubbing awkwardly at his neck with his free hand.

Of course. With a sigh, Soufehla walked closer until she stood directly in front of him. Like the time she sent him into the Beyond. She then deftly pulled at the bowstring, freeing the Templar from the ensnaring bow after a few minutes of silent work.

He looked at her with widened eyes, his surprise all too evident. But he nodded his thanks. “Thank you, Lavellan.

She grunted in response, pulling the longbow free and expertly restringing it before handing the poor thing back to the man. He accepted it before gesturing excitedly at the direction she’d disappeared to earlier.

“Lavellan, did you see? There was this huge black-”

“I killed you, Templar.” She cut him off, saw him pull up abruptly.

“I murdered you.” She whispered.

His gaze settled on her, full of concern. Genuine concern, she knew. She’d thought it veiled hatred and disgust at first, but no. This Templar truly worried for her.

“Did I harm you, back in the future?” He asked gently, never coming closer.

“No, you... I killed you before you could.” She admitted, unable to meet his eyes any longer. She turned her head guiltily.

“I see.” He paused, and Soufehla waited. Waited for his angry words.

“I’m glad.”

 _Glad?_ Her eyes whipped over to him again. How could he be glad that she murdered him?

“Thank you, Lavellan.” He smiled, rubbing at the back of his neck again. “I’m, ah, well, I would not have wanted to live the way you described.”

“Oh.”

She shuffled her feet, not quite certain where to look. With her blinding rage set aside, she noticed much more of him now, of things she’d overlooked before regarding the man who had thrown away his life for her, after having known her only a month. This man who had smiled for her, who’d offered him nothing but biting insults.

“I told you something, when you died. I do not know if you heard me, but I hope you did.” She murmured.

“I… uh… have no idea if I did.” He replied a little hesitantly.

Soufehla swallowed, twisted her hands together. She lifted her head to look into his eyes, to meet his gaze. His eyes… beautiful specks of gold sparkled in his amber eyes. Not the corrupted, blood-red eyes she’d looked into during the dark future, but gentle eyes full of hesitant confusion and kind worry.

“My name… my name is Soufehla, Commander. Soufehla Adahlena Lavellan.” Her name sounded foreign on her lips, his new title stumbling over her tongue. There, it was out now. No way to take it back. But he deserved to know. She wanted him to know, the name of the woman he’d saved.

He blinked at her, surprised, and she looked away from his golden gaze. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to know.

He then dipped his head with a friendly smile, eyes crinkling happily.

“It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” He laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I ran out of all the reserved chapters I had finished in my folder. So from here on out, the updates will slow down since I'm writing, editing, sending it to beta, editing.... editing... more editing.... but I hope you guys will still come back to read it!
> 
> Happy New Year, guys!


	17. Samahal - Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, a little elf lived with a smile always lingering by her lips. Then a blue eyed Templar came and stole it away.   
> It was a gold eyed Templar who returned the stolen smile to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I copied the hilarious Chargers scene - for the chaper below - link is [here](https://youtu.be/zMXP7qVNAD4?t=152) if you guys want to see it!

Bow Cullen is using

Soufehla. The da’lan’s true name was Soufehla.

Solas’ eyes flashed over to the Commander, who stood with a gentle smile curling at his lips. Had the man known before he did? Had da’lan confessed her name to that shem before calling this early war meeting with her closest companions and advisors?

But what could have prompted her to do so? To give the Commander of all people her true name? Did the Vengeance loosen its grip on her? Solas nudged with his magic, peered intently beyond the Veil surrounding Soufehla. Vengeance hovered over her as always, growling into her ear, bloody eyes glinting with hatred as it glared at the Commander. But da’lan stood passively, doggedly ignoring the fervent whispers with indomitable focus.

Soufehla. Not Sounin, nor Sou’vhenan, but Soufehla. A strong, wolf-like girl. A name which fit her perfectly. A name he’d not imagined for her.

He watched as da’lan roamed through the village with purposeful step, questioning everyone with renewed fervor. He listened to her asking countless questions to the advisors and inner circle members, answering as many questions as she asked truthfully. Solas wondered just what had changed her so – it was for the better, but he could not help the curiosity growing inside.

Perhaps he could shape the da’lan’s dreams tonight to reflect her memories of the dark future she’d experienced at Redcliffe castle. She would have to endure through another nightmare, but he would be able to see exactly what Dorian and da’lan had lived through and understand her drastic change better. Tonight, he would do so. He wished to know everything this da’lan had seen.

But she stalked over now, her eyes shining brightly with curiosity.

“Soufehla,” Solas inclined his head, chuckling lightly. “It is a remarkable name for a Dalish elf.”

“Is that so?” She scowled. Perhaps she hadn’t changed as much as he’d thought.

“A strong, wolf-like woman? Dalish have irrational dislike and fear of wolves, do they not? May I ask what prompted your mother to name you so?”

She paused for a beat, and Solas wondered if she would answer. To his surprise, she did.

“My mother did not name me. I chose my own name, discarding the old one.”

“Oh? And what was your old name then?” He asked.

“A name of a dead girl is of no concern to you.” She growled, her tone turning vicious as he probed too far.

“My apologies. I was simply curious as your people are known to hate wolves.”

“Do you not mean to say ‘our people’?” She asked, her voice returning to gentle curiosity.

“Our people.” He sighed. How casually she spoke the phrase, without knowing the weight behind those words. “It should mean more… but the Dalish have forgotten that. Among other things.” He shook his head.

“Oh, but you know the truth, right?” Her sarcastic tone stabbed at him.

“While they pass on stories, mangling details, I walk the Fade. I have seen things they have not.” He lied.

“You are but one stranger, a flat-ear with wild tales of the time thousand years past. You walk into the Dalish camp, scoff at the years of grueling efforts we have made to preserve what we can, dismiss the blood spilled over what we know now and offer knowledge and no proof to back your words than ‘I have dreamed in the Fade; it is the truth.’ You would have us upturn hundreds of years of Dalish tradition based on your words alone? You are not some god, Solas. You cannot simply expect the others to accept your words as gospel the moment you speak. If you would truly teach others, make a proper effort to do so. All you are doing now is being petulant that no one would believe your outlandish tales.” She snorted, tossing her head with a jingle of bells.

Some god. If she only knew. Solas smiled, inclining his head at her words.

“You are right, of course. The fault is mine.”

“And even if the Dalish knew they were wrong, we may not want to change.” She spoke softly, her eyes growing distant.

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing, Solas. But I did have questions about magic and the Fade…”

* * *

_Smile with me_.

His words lingered around her, insistent in her mind.

_Not for me. With me._

His last request, if it could even be called as one. But what did that even mean? The man smiled so easily, laughed with a throaty voice that rumbled deep in his chest. But the motion felt strange on her face, and Soufehla watched herself grimace in the hazy reflection of the frozen lake under the starlight as she attempted to pull the corners of her lips up in a smile.

 _He said smile with me, not make grotesque frowns at me, you dolt_.

She supposed she didn’t have to do it right away – the man did say ‘one day’, as if he knew of the ingrained hatred she felt against the Templars. Well, considering her not-so-subtle behaviors, perhaps it was stranger to think that he did not know. Considering how competent Leliana was, the advisors probably already knew of her nickname, Templar Hunter.

But small groups of Mages were arriving at Haven on daily basis and Soufehla knew it was only a matter of days before she was to make another attempt at sealing the Breach.

Only a matter of days before she either perished, or returned to Clan Lavellan.

Only a matter of days before she could carry out his dying wish, even if it was something as peculiar as ‘smiling’. She was duty-bound, was she not? Even if _this_ Commander had no recollection of his request… or rather, hadn’t made the request, the fact remained that she murdered him... _other_ him. Creators, this was getting confusing.

Soufehla sighed before tossing a spark of electricity skittering across the icy surface of the lake. Her wolves lazily flicked their ears at her movements, a few of them twitching their noses. She stared grumpily at them.

“Why couldn’t he have asked for something simpler? Like kill someone for him? Or a trophy bear pelt? Andruil knows I’ve killed enough bears to last a few winters at Hinterlands.”

The gray alpha sat up slowly on his haunches, yawning long and wide before giving her a look which suspiciously seemed to say ‘you idiot’.

“Why did I even ask him what he wanted?” She scowled at her wolf.

‘You idiot’ look her wolf was giving her intensified.

“Shut up.” She muttered. How was she supposed to know he’d ask for something so complicated? It had felt right to ask him in the moment, when her world had narrowed down to his blood-shot eyes. But to smile? _With_ him? She didn’t even remember the last time when she’d let out a laugh that wasn’t a sarcastic or a cruel bark. Or a hysterical, half-maddened laugh in the dark future. Unless snickering at Varric counted…? No, of course not.

“Ugggghhhh…” She groaned, her head falling into her hands. To ask for a smile, of all things. A smile! Why did he even want to see her smiling? What could he possibly gain from seeing her smile?

“Or maybe, he wanted to say something else but the red lyrium marred his words!” She looked up hopefully, and the gray wolf cocked his head. There was no mistaking the meaning in his gaze this time – ‘coward’, he said.

Coward, indeed. To think of all the things she’d dealt with so far, she would run from a ‘smile’. She sighed, burying her head into her arms again. She heard crunching footsteps approaching and with a rustle her wolves slowly got to their feet and ambled off, hopping from boulder to boulder to hide their numerous footprints.

“I really would have preferred it if he had asked me to seal the Breach instead.” She mumbled.

“Herald? Herald! Heeeraaallllldd?”

She waited quietly, listening to the voices get louder. The last of her wolves disappeared between the thick trees.

“Ye sure she went that way?”

“The scouts saw her, alright? You heard ‘em too.”

“What if she ditched again?”

“Nah, she wouldn’t. Chief says she hasn’t run off once since the Redcliffe castle.”

“Well, then where is she?”

“I’m here.” She called out, standing up and patting at the little bit of snow that had caked into her furs. Soon enough the Chargers broke through the forest rather loudly.

“Herald!” Krem grinned happily at her.

“What is it?” She sighed, moving towards the ragtag bunch. They were right – she hadn’t ‘run off’ since the dark future. How could she? With the visions of that world all but suffocating her, Soufehla didn’t dare. She needed to cooperate with the Inquisition people, completely. She had seen what her lone-wolf behavior could potentially cost the world.

“The soldiers you rescued from the Avaar at Fallow Mire just returned.” Krem pointed towards where Haven was, and she saw a small black mass crawling on the far side of the lake.

“Is Stitches off healing them?”

“Aye.” Rocky grumbled, taking a swig from a mug he seemed to carry everywhere.

“Right. They need me too?”

“No, Herald. If you remember you’re supposed to rest until the Breach?”

Soufehla grumbled. She did remember. Advisors had told her to rest up until the Breach. She’s been doing nothing _but_ resting. It bore her nearly out of her mind, with nothing to occupy her long, long hours but the words of dying Commander’s last wish.

“Then what do you need me for?”

“The soldiers wanted to thank you once more in person, Herald. And we figure no one would reject her Holiness’ healings.” Krem grinned mischievously.

She liked how the man thought.

“Lead on then. Mythal knows my magic will be put to better use on those shems than out here.”

Soufehla followed the Chargers back, the group singing their mercenary song merrily if somewhat off-key. But her sharp ears caught a quiet _thunk_ that sounded just on the edge of her hearing. She paused and cocked her head, and sure enough, another faint _thunk_ followed.

It was a noise she was familiar with, a noise that constantly rang out whenever her clan camped anywhere for long period of time. Soufehla veered towards the source with the Chargers following after her with a confused look.

It wasn’t long before she found the Commander, the same as the few nights past. They watched as he struggled with his bow, loosening another arrow which somehow embedded itself into the ground ten paces away.

Creators, he was bad. It was a thought the Chargers voiced loudly, making the man turn around with a start.

“Maker, and I thought I’d find some peace and quiet out here.” He sighed.

“Oy Commander, you suck!” Krem laughed.

“I know full well how dreadful I am.” He grumbled, but didn’t seem particularly angered by the frank evaluation. “I needed a break, and decided to give this a try… Maker knows I could use the practice.” He muttered, glancing at the bow held in his hand.

“Oh I know, Herald can teach him!” Dalish laughed.

“No.” She immediately shook her head, just as the Commander let out a surprised “But she’s a Mage!”

“Now, ser, you know she’s not a Mage!” Dalish sang, her grin stretching wide. “That’d make her an apostate.”

A beat passed, before the Chargers fell in heaps roaring with laughter. Even Grim grunted amusedly as Rocky and Skinner cackled on the ground.

“I carry a staff, Dalish.” She sighed, feeling the tips of her lips twitch amusedly.

“We both know it’s a _bow_.”

“A bow with a giant glowing crystal at the tip?” Krem gasped out, tears pooling at the corner of his eyes.

“Yes. It’s for aiming. Old elven trick. Herald understands.” Dalish winked.

“Right. Of course.” The Commander chuckled heartily. “Forgive me, old Templar habits are difficult to break.”

“As long as you understand there are no apostates here right now, good ser.” Dalish nodded with a mock-stern expression, earning yet another round of gasping laughter from the Chargers.

“Perfectly so.” He laughed.

“We will see you later then, Herald. Show him what an amazing archer you are.” The elf grinned mischievously, before dragging the rest of the mercenaries off with her.

“Right.” She fidgeted. Alone in a forest with the Commander. Again. Why was this happening?

“You needn’t stay, Lavellan. I do realize you’re not actually an archer.” He smiled at her, running a hand through his golden locks.

“I know how to handle a bow, Commander. I’m Dalish.” Soufehla pursed her lips.

“You… do?”

“Dalish elves grow up with longbows; it’s the first toy given to the toddlers, first tool the Dalish are taught to use. It is the first weapon we learn to handle. There are few who could claim to be better at archery than a Dalish elf.”

“And magic often manifest during puberty, which by then you would already be well-versed in longbows.” He slowly reasoned through, his eyes thoughtful. “Her claim that you two are both archers wasn’t just an idle jest, was it?”

“No, more of an amusing little fact often overlooked by others. With magic, we have long range weapon flowing in our blood and have little use for bows. But it does not mean our hard-worked skills simply disappear.”

“I apologize, Lavellan.” He smiled once more, looking down to meet her eyes. “I did not mean to offend.”

Creators, how easily he smiled. How easily he admitted his faults. She could not fathom how he could, especially to a Mage.

“It’s quite alright, Commander. I do not expect a Tem… a former Knight-Captain to know of Dalish ways.”

“I, ah…” He looked away and cleared his throat.

_Smile with me._

She shook her head vicious snap, shaking off his lingering words. She wasn’t about to grin silly at this man. She _wasn’t_.

Instead, she waved her hand at the trees standing far off. The woods responded instantly to her will, a sapling growing and curling around in front of a thick tree trunk to form a circular target. She could not smile for… _with_ this man. But she could teach him how to use a bow properly even if he was awful at it. Perhaps the man who passed away in the dark future would see it as a sufficient alternative to his request. She prayed it would be enough to give him peace in the Beyond.

“Lavellan?”

“Take a stance. Aim, shoot for the center.” She snapped.

“You do not have to do this. I’ve been told before I’m beyond hope.”

“I… would like to.” She muttered. She did not think she could explain to him why she was obliged to help him. How could he understand? He hadn’t seen the horrors of the dark future, had no idea what kind of monster he’d been transformed into. He did not know of the sacrifice he made.

Commander shrugged before doing as told, his posture stiff and clumsy. His usual balanced grace of a warrior was all but gone, replaced by an awkward boy tugging warily at a new weapon in his hand. She smothered a painful groan, bit her lower lip to stop it from sneaking its way out.

_Creators, they were going to be here all night._

She winced inwardly as he released an arrow, watching it fly through the air before bouncing off a tree bark. At least ten paces away from the target she’d made for him. He lowered the bow and threw her a sheepish look.

“I, uh…”

“Are you even using a proper draw-weight bow, Commander?” She asked, reaching for the bow. He pressed it into her palm, and she noticed that he was not wearing his leather gloves, foregoing them despite the cold for drawing the bowstring. His fingers brushed against hers then, and she a sizzling burn shot up her arm like a lightning.

Creators, that tiny touch left an aching throb in her hand. His lyrium, no, his very presence lingered on her skin, his heat warming that small spot on her fingers even as the icy wind chilled her frozen-stiff hands.

Was it the familiar simmering anger? Or was it a prickling throb of panic resurfacing at a male Templar touching her? Or was it her memory of the time she’d first touched him, when she’d granted him a clean death? The first Templar she’d killed out of mercy.

But his golden eyes watched her intently, and Soufehla wrenched her thoughts back into place. She could not afford to let him see the tumbling emotions she felt, could not allow him to see how disconcerting he was to be around. Instead, she took a deep steady breath and flexed before drawing the bow. Her childhood came flooding back with the motion, the years long past flashing before her eyes. The images of smiling clan mates wavered in the air, their proud smiles lighting up their faces. Many winters ago, there was a time they weren’t afraid of her.

It had been many winters since Soufehla had used a bow, her manifestation as a Mage all but rendering that particular skill useless. But the motion still felt as natural as breathing for her, her muscles remembering the fluid way to pull back the bowstring. She struggled to pull it to a full draw, and nodded with satisfaction. It was too heavy for her – it should be heavy enough for a full grown Tem… male warrior. She looked back at the Commander, sweeping her eyes over his body. She could see the well-trained muscles even through the thick layers of armor and furs he wore, hinting at a strength only the fittest men carried. He wasn’t like Bull, all thick and mountainous. More like a… lion? Lean and deadly, he was most likely able to deal devastating blows with his shield and relied on incredibly precise and lightning fast sword strikes. She had killed enough Templars to know how they were built, how they were trained. She could almost see the chiseled muscles flexing beneath his cloak in her mind, remembering the way he’d leapt out of the way of her lightning strike in the war room.

“This is a good bow.” She spoke, passing it back to the Commander.

“You make it look almost effortless.” He commented, taking it back gingerly.

“Andruil willing, you will too.” She replied, before indicating him to take the stance again. He promptly complied.

Soft words flowed from her lips, repeating the familiar words ingrained into her mind. Nostalgic elvhen words she first heard when her clan mates did not fear her, fond words she’d heard so often since her earliest memories she now translated into the King’s Tongue. It sounded foreign in this new tongue, the Dalish instructions alien to her own ears as she shared the secret with this man.

“Relax, Commander. You are practically radiating tension.” She circled him, studying his posture critically. She could almost feel the way his muscles clenched up nervously. Clearly, this wasn’t working.

Stifling a sigh, Soufehla circled back to face him and crossed her arms.

“Think about swordplay, Commander. How do you stand when you have a sword in your hand? If you tense up, your muscles are jerky and tire quickly. Your response time slows down, and you take more jarring shocks from the blows. You want your muscles moving fluidly.”

He cocked his head, his eyes wide.

“You’re very well versed in swordplay, Lavellan.” He mused, shifting into a more comfortable stance.

“I watched our Hunters train.” She lied. “But yes, that looks much better. Now obviously you don’t hold a bow like a sword. You’re right-handed, yes? Grip the bow with your left hand so your thumb would be pointing at the target when the bow is raised.”

She watched him shuffle awkwardly, biting the inside of her cheeks to keep her face expressionless before she wordlessly nocked an arrow for him.

“Now for your bowstring hand, wrap the middle three fingers below the arrow shaft. No, not like that. The string should be… Creators, no! Not like that either, you’ll shoot yourself like that.”

Soufehla clenched her fists, before taking a calming breath. She could do this. She knew she could do this. She’d touched him once before – she could touch him again. And not kill him.

She stepped up and laid her hand over his fist, prying away his death grip over the string until his hand was positioned properly (and loosely). His heat burned against her skin once again, his lyrium singing, beckoning, coaxing her simmering rage to grow.

“Keep this hand relaxed and flat.” She spoke, patting at his draw hand.

She crushed the urge to scratch him, to claw him. She would not harm him.

“Now keep those hands still, and readjust your stance. Commander, you needn’t spread your legs so far apart. Remember, relaxed, natural.” She pressed her hands against his thighs and pushed, nudging his legs closer together.

She tasted metallic blood in her mouth, having bitten too hard. But she did not harm him. Once he was set up better, Soufehla moved behind his back so he was unable to see her strained face. He did not need to know.

“Better. Much better.” She eyed him critically, hoping he could not hear the faint trembling in her voice. “Now, memorize how you are standing, how you’re gripping the bow. That’s how you set up to shoot an arrow.”

He nodded, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

She hoped she was too.

“Try to do this in one fluid motion. Pull the bow up so it is perpendicular to the ground and pull the bowstring straight until your finger brushes against the corner of your mouth. Keep your left arm steady.”

She lightly placed her hands over his arms, guiding his motions carefully. She smelled his scent, heady and thick in the air by the nape of his neck. Sharp scent of polishing oil, twinge of leather, sweat, and something… something she couldn’t place. Something that was undoubtedly him, the Commander.

She stepped away from him, holding her hands together, her nails digging into her palms until crescent-shaped imprints remained. Her fists trembled, and a light sheen of sweat broke out over her brows.

“Try again on your own, Commander.” She just barely stopped herself from hissing out.

The man drew the bow again, and Soufehla cocked her head. One more steadying, calming breath.

“You’re drawing with your arms, Commander. You must use the muscles in your back.”

“My back?”

“Yes, here…” She touched his cloak, only to find solid metal underneath.

“Right.” She swallowed, biting her lips again before she turned around to expose her back to him. She shivered under his gaze, her hairs standing on edge. Her instincts screamed in her head, howled for her to turn around, to protect herself.

Soufehla unfastened her cloak, revealing the elven clothes she wore underneath so he could see her form better. She tilted forward and pulled her free arm to her back, tentatively feeling out for the thick muscles between her shoulder blades. Her fingers soon pressed against the spot, and she shivered once more. For once she thanked the dreadful cold, masking her shaking limbs from his eyes.

“Right here. You need to use the muscles right here. It’s just the same as using a sword – swing with your arm, you do not get a decent force behind it. It is the same with longbows. Using only your arms, it is not enough. Sure, you can draw it, but muscles shake, aim is thrown off, and you tire faster.”

She dropped her arms and spun on her heels, facing him once more. The icy gust blew between them, reddening his exposed cheeks further. She refastened her cloak while he flexed before trying again, this time much more accurately.

“You’re a fast learner, Commander.” She murmured, adjusting his stance just a little. She bent his elbow to the right angle, adjusted his anchor point. Pressed down on his shoulder further back and down, opening his chest wide.

“Aim with both of your eyes, not one. Sight, and release. Control your breathing as you do. Hold your breath, or breathe too heavily and it will affect your aim. Do nothing exaggerated, simply relax your fingers, let go.”

The bow twanged pleasantly, and the Commander slowly lowered it as they both watched the arrow fly straight. It slammed into the base of the tree five paces away from the target. His eyes were narrowed, concentration marked on his expression. She knew he was memorizing every sensation thrumming through his body at that moment; the man was no novice to combat art.

He shook lightly, before turning to face her.

“If you are ready, one more time.”

Soufehla barely needed to make any adjustments by his fourth draw, just a light touch to fix minuscule things.

“Feel the wind, Commander. Make adjustments accordingly.” She leaned in close to check his sight, felt him shudder and take a sharp breath. His heat was electric against her frosted cheeks and she shivered once again. It was the cold. Or perhaps, it was the lyrium in his blood. Probably both.

She stood by him, her teeth almost chattering in the cold and watching him shoot endlessly at the curling sapling twenty paces away. Slowly, inch by inch, his shots thudded closer to the sapling target, arrowheads burying deep into the bark with a satisfying crunch.

She shivered and clutched at her arms. If it wasn’t for her magic, she surely would have frozen to death long ago. Icy daggers cut straight through to her bones past her thick bundle of furs, her exposed cheeks raw and red. She fervently wished for at least two more layers of cloaks, but she refused to leave him, leave the job half finished. She would see this through.

Soufehla could have aided him, cast barriers to block the wind. Or even shift the target a bit closer, wider. But she only stood and watched, trying to warm herself with magic without accidentally setting the winter forest on fire and calling out a few adjustments once in a while to the stubborn Commander.

Until, with a loud _thwak_ the arrow slammed into the center of the target.

Soufehla stared at the quivering arrow, buried dead in the middle of the target. He’d done it. Andruil guide their way, he made a perfect shot.

“ _Yes!”_ She hooted, leaping straight into the air. “Creators, you did it! Andruil protect our spirit, you shot it right in the center!” She laughed and twirled, running across the pure-white snow.

“I almost can’t believe it! You were atrocious before – Creators, I wasn’t certain you could improve so much so quickly!” She exulted, bounding towards him after checking the target. It was, indeed, dead in the center!

“You smiled!” He blurted out, his mouth dropping open as he stared at her.

Soufehla stilled instantly, her hand clapping over her lips.

“No, Maker, I did not mean for you to stop.” He smiled hesitantly. “I was simply surprised. I do not think I’ve seen you smile before.”

_She had smiled._

She had even laughed out loud. In his presence, with lyrium singing in his blood.

Creators, had she smiled with him? She didn’t think she particularly smiled for him.

Soufehla slowly lowered hand, tentative and shy. But her lips quirked, curled at the edges in an easy grin. Creators, it came so… so effortlessly, so naturally, with the bow held in his huge hand and the single shaft of the arrow stuck at the center of the target, Soufehla could smile, could grin, could laugh as if it was something she did every day. As if she’d been doing so for years.

She shook her head and laughed, laughed merrily with the bells jingling in her hair. A pure, trilling laugh of simple joy, of pure delight at the Commander’s achievement gained through their combined efforts.

 _She smiled with him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the slow update. Real life is kicking my ass. Not sure when I can get next chapter up.


	18. Lath y Isalathe? - Love or Lust?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _But to seal the Breach, he would do as the Qun demanded._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Explicit, Male masturbation**
> 
>  
> 
> Drawing is at the bottom for this chapter. Amazing (nsfw) work by [nsfwfrosch](http://nsfwfrosch.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! Thank you so much for your permission to use your art!

Her long fingers tightened over her furry sleeves, her arms crossed protectively in front of herself. She trembled, and he saw her sharp jaw tighten as she clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

_Would she accept his cloak?_

He brought his hand up, intending to unfasten the clasp at his throat, but he felt her magic prickling him even before she visibly glowed with Immolation.

“I apologize for keeping you out in the cold for so long.” He said, lowering his hand to his pommel.

Her unreadable eyes flashed up to him before she turned away, glimmering like a cat’s in the darkness as she trudged through the deep snow piled high up to her knees. He wondered if he should walk ahead of her, to make a path for her to walk in.

“No need for apologies, Commander. I only did as I wished.” She replied.

He traced her smooth face with his eyes, wishing he could melt away the icy mask which rested there so often.

 _Wasn’t she only a weapon?_ A voice sneered at him. _Do you usually cover your shield with your cloak?_

 _She may be a weapon, but she’s also a woman_. He retorted, brushing the voice away. _It is common courtesy_.

“May I buy you a drink?”

“What?” She stopped, wide eyes once again meeting his gaze.

“My thanks, for today. You’ve done the impossible, after all.” He added, searching her violet eyes.

“…Alright.” She turned, heading towards the tavern.

“Wait. Truly?” He hurried after her.

“It’s just a drink.” She snapped.

“I understand that, Lavellan. It’s just that I simply thought… well,” he stuttered, hand rubbing awkwardly at his neck.

“Thought…?” She glanced back, her violet eyes piercing him.

“I, ah…” He shrugged, falling into step behind her.

“You thought I couldn’t tolerate your presence.”

“Well, yes.” He admitted. There was no use trying to hide that.

She was quiet until they reached the edge of the forest. Then Lavellan stopped walking so abruptly that he nearly walked into her.

“Lavellan?”

“I hate Templars.” She spat, whirling around to face him, her eyes ablaze.

“I despise them! I _abhor_ them!” She growled. “Tolerate? Wrong. There is no _tolerating_ Templars. I will slaughter them on sight. My very blood boils in my veins when you’re nearby.”

Cullen winced, taking a step back from her blistering hatred.

“But,” she paused, meeting his gaze without a flinch. She was calm like the steady surface of a pond within a span of his breath, her rage buried deep as if she’d never released it before.

“I believe _you_ , Commander. And because it is _you_ , I will place my trust in your words, that you are no longer a Templar. I give you my sincerest apology, for treating you as one. Ir abelas Commander, it will not happen again. Your presence is always welcome by my side.”

He stood stunned, though thank the Maker he at least kept his mouth closed.

“Will you… accept my apology, Commander?” She mumbled, her ears dipping toward the ground after the silence had stretched out for too long.

“Ye… yes, of course! Thank you for the apology, Lavellan.” He flailed, sticking his arm out toward her for a handshake, which she blinked at.

“Uhm…?”

“Oh! Sorry, I, ah… Maker’s breath, Dalish do not shake hands, do they? I remember Josephine saying something to that extent…”

But as he started to withdraw his hand, her hand burrowed into his grip. He started, once again meeting her gaze.

“I… think I’ve seen shems shake hands in some villages.” She mumbled, pumping his hand side to side, her head cocked.

“…the grip is correct, but you shake up and down.” He couldn’t help but chuckle, gently shaking her small hand.

“Oh.”

_Did she just blush?!_

She whirled around, pulling her hand out of his grip as she went.

“You’re still buying the drinks.” She called as she sped away, drawing a yet another chuckle from him.

 

*******

 

Cullen stared at Lavellan as she downed a third bottle of spirit as if it was water. Bull wasn’t wrong. She could _really_ drink when she set her mind to it. Conversation flowed easily between the two of them as she questioned him of his background and he also sipped at the ale in his tankard.

“Surprised, Commander?” She noticed him staring.

“…somewhat. I admit I did not think you could drink so much, with your stature.”

“Dalish… well, at least my clan drank ale in place of water most of the time. Sadly the liquor shems make do not taste the same.” She shrugged, reaching for another bottle.

“I see.” He watched her, unable to tear his eyes away. He traced the tattoo on her cheeks over and over again, stared at her as if to memorize every delicate lines of her angular face. But his attention kept returning to one thing in particular – the bells woven into her raven hair.

“May I ask about your bells?” He blurted out, watching the tiny bells jingle in her locks.

“Bells…? Oh.” She raised her hand to pat at her head, her eyes growing distant for a moment.

“If you feel uncomfortable talking about them…”

“No, no it’s fine, Commander. Creators know I’ve asked enough personal questions for you tonight.” She sighed, lowering her hand again, tightening it into a fist before she forcibly relaxed it.

“It’s just… you’ve had them ever since you disappeared, and I see no practical purpose for them. I must admit they’ve piqued my curiosity.”

“As you see me as the type to hate wearing non-practical gears and jewelry, I assume?”

He winced, lowering the tankard to the table. “I, ah… if I’ve caused offense…”

“No, you’re correct Commander. I do not wear anything that has no purpose. It’s no wonder you’ve grown curious.” She paused, taking in a deep breath and letting it out. He wondered if her breath would smell as sweet as her scent.

“These bells… are a gift from my father.” She murmured, her hand twirling a lock of hair with a bell tied in it.

“…your father?”

“Well to be exact, these were a gift from my father to my mother I assume.” She sighed, jingling the bell quietly.

“My father does not know of me. I do not know if he’s even aware of my mother’s passing into the Beyond. But ten years ago he sent these bells to my clan, and as my mother’s only daughter I claimed them. They had… a certain ancient magic cast on them, but to this day I do not know what those spells were for. They faded away after a few years.”

“…thank you for sharing your tale with me, Lavellan.”

“Thank you for listening, Commander.” She emptied the bottle and stood up.

“I think I shall retire for the evening. Ma serannas, for the drinks. Good night, Commander.” She tilted her head and walked out of the bustling tavern, his gaze trailing after her as she disappeared into the night.

* * *

“Your healer, oh what’s his name again… Stitches? Maker, he is so skilled! Wherever did you manage to find him? He saved _so_ many lives since the Chargers joined the Inquisition, and tonight he was invaluable. I absolutely _must_ thank you for bringing such excellent personnel to assist us, Bull!”

Bull leaned back against the wooden wall and sent the chatty human woman a sloppy grin. Her cheeks were flushed, voiced pitched just a tad higher than usual, and her dilated pupils darted to his crotch more than once in a while as they talked.

“Always good to hear my men are being appreciated. Thanks, Sister.” He rumbled, bringing the mug up to his lips. The weak liquor sloshed and spilled over the rim, wetting his chest – and the redheaded Sister visibly swallowed.

Well, he was going to have some company tonight.

He grinned, gulping down the liquor. Too bad he couldn’t get some hands on some proper drinks here. Like maraas-lok. Mmmhhh, yeah, that would give him the perfect kick.

“It must be your incredible leadership which led to Chargers being such an amazing company. Really, I must thank you properly.” She purred, patting his knee with her hand. He shifted on the stool, spreading his legs a bit wider under the pleasant touch.

Then the wooden door creaked open, achingly cold winter gust piercing the warm air within the tavern and Bull flicked his eye over to the newcomers. From where he was sitting he could keep his one eye on both doors at all times while keeping his back protected by the wall.

Two figures stepped over the threshold into the amber fire-lit tavern, flicking their hands and patting down their cloaks to shake off the snow piled on them.

“Oy, shut the door before we all freeze our arses off, yeah?” Sera called across the room, and the elf who’d just entered kicked the door shut nimbly, before looking up to frown at the city elf.

“If it’ll freeze your tongue, perhaps I should keep it open.” She snapped before heading over to the bar, where the redheaded barkeep scuttled over to. He chuckled as he watched Sera stuck her tongue out at the ‘Herald’ and grumbled “piss-pot!”

“Maker’s breath,” the huge blond man sighed before following the elf to the bar.

_Huh._

Cullen had his eyes stubbornly glued to the scowling elf. He wasn’t surprised to see the two of them enter the tavern together – Dalish had already told him of the archery practice she shoved them into. But _that_.

 _That,_ he wasn’t expecting to see.

He watched the two as they drank late into the evening, watched Cullen’s gaze linger over her face, her hands, her hair. Bull saw the man’s hand twitch towards her, only to pull back with effort. And when the Boss left, Cullen watched her walk away, a haunted look flitting across his eyes.

_Crap._

They didn’t need this right now. Not when they were so close to sealing the Breach. Nobody could afford to have the Commander of Inquisition distracted by the Herald of Andraste.

He turned his attention back to the Sister still talking in front of him, and grunted for her to stop.

“You know what? You’re right. There isn’t enough thanks going around here. Come to my tent tonight and we can thank each other properly, eh?”

The woman nodded with a sharp jerk, her shining eyes showing her excitement. She hastened away, probably to prepare for the… uh… thanking process later. He groaned as he stood up, walking to the table where Cullen still sat staring into his tankard, and dropped into the small chair.

“Cullen,” He rumbled, making the man look up with a start.

“Bull,” He grunted.

“Out late with the Boss, eh, Cullen? Any progress on your archery skill?”

“Surprisingly, yes. She is an excellent instructor.”

“Is she? Well, Boss sure is full of surprises.” He chuckled, filing away that bit of information for the report.

“Why do you address her as ‘Boss’, Bull? She may be the ‘Herald’, but she does not outrank you.” He asked, taking another long swig from the tankard.

“Ah. Yeah well, technically the Seeker founded the Inquisition along with you lot, right? So it’s you guys who are the heart of it all, leading through consensus. That’s all fine and mighty here, but out in the field? You know world doesn’t care to wait for that consensus shit. That’s where she comes in. She makes the decisions, keeps the party alive. Whenever something tricky comes up, people just look to her for orders.”

“Is that so? Not Cassandra? I would imagine the Seeker would be more approachable than Lavellan.”

“Hmm. True, but… well, you’ve never seen Boss in action, have you? Heh, heh, she’s magnificent. All fierce and wrapped in purple lightning, looking like she’ll blast your head off if you even glance at her wrong. Heh, heh, heh…”

He cleared his throat as Cullen frowned, continuing on.

“Right, moving on. She may be the scariest thing you’ve ever seen, but she’s the scariest thing that’s on _your_ side. And she makes the tough calls well. That was easy enough to see after spending, what, maybe an hour with her? She makes the decisions that Seeker hesitates to make, and gets things done. She also keeps her feelings completely separate from the mission. There’s a reason she hasn’t lost a single soldier in her unit. Damn, she would have made one hell of a Ben-Hassrath.”

“I see.” Cullen mused, eyes thoughtful as he finished the ale.

“So, the Boss, huh? Damn, you set your bars high.”

He sputtered, coughing and hacking as he swallowed the ale into his lungs.

“I… she… no, I would never…”

He chuckled, leaning back against the chair as he chose his words with utmost care. It would be bad to mess up now.

“Relax, Cullen. Everyone’s thinking the exact same thing.” He grinned.

“I… she’s the Herald! And… Maker’s breath, can we speak of something else?”

“Oh come on. ‘The Herald’? She doesn’t believe in that crap. She’s a woman, and one hot fine piece of ass at that, too. Believe me, there isn’t one man in the Inquisition who hasn’t thought what you’re thinking right now. Nobody gives a nug’s ass that you want to get frisky with Boss. Hell, I’d wonder if you were sick or something if you didn’t.”

“Oh sweet Maker,” He groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

“Look, it’s not like you have that entire sticky, complicated, love-thing you humans do going on. Just go pop your cork. You sure look like you need to.”

“Bull, enough.”

“Yeah, yeah. Well I got a frisky Sister waiting for me in my tent tonight. You should let loose a little once in a while too, Cullen. Maybe then you won’t be so distracted by Boss’ fantastic tits.” He stood up, scraping the chair on the floor and waving at the groaning man as he left.

Bull looked back when he was by the door to see Cullen looking thoughtful. He growled, kicking the door open as he left the tavern. Bull took a long swig to drain his own mug to wash the foul taste in his mouth, slamming it down onto the table as he left. He didn’t like to manipulate a man like Cullen but to seal the Breach, he would do as the Qun demanded.

* * *

Cullen returned to his tent, closing the flap tight behind him before he lit the candle inside with a flintstone. Once it was illuminated, Cullen started to remove his armor piece by piece, placing them on the stand near his table. After he freed himself of the heavy metal he sprawled on his bunk.

Maker, he was exhausted… it felt as if every limb on his body was made of wax. But sleep evaded his wandering mind, Bull’s chuckling words echoing in the darkness.

Get frisky… Maker’s breath, he could feel the flush creeping up his neck even now. But Bull wasn’t completely wrong. It had been a while since he’d enjoyed a female companion, or felt any sort of release.

Perhaps that was all this was. Perhaps it was simply his pent up frustrations that guided his eyes toward Lavellan. There was no denying she held a certain... elven allure that sparked a fire inside him.

Lust. He knew how to deal with lust. Lust was uncomplicated, safe, controlled. He could handle _lust._

His chilled body remembered the heat radiated by Lavellan earlier that night, when her nimble fingers guided his arms, felt her touch vivid on his hand where she fixed his grip on the bowstring.

He tugged on his breeches, lowering them to his thighs to free his half-hardened length from the clothing.

_She’s the Herald of Andraste!_

He brushed aside the guilt rearing its head and took himself in his hand. Simple satisfaction of lust and nothing more, he reminded himself. It was her sensuality which drew him to her and if he slacked his thirst for… _intimacy,_ then she would be a distraction no longer.

_It’s nothing but lust. Any man would be drawn to her beauty._

He growled, forcing his mind to picture Lavellan’s sharp eyes shining under the starry sky earlier that night, tracing her slender lines down to her tender throat hidden by the clasp her cloak.

That, _that_ was all it took for his hunger to simmer his limbs. His shaft lengthened in his hand, growing heavier in his palm under Lavellan’s violet gaze.

 He groaned, grabbing himself and giving a slow, firm stroke. A shiver ran through his spine in response – Maker, it really had been too long.

He remembered her petite hand he shook, which now wrapped around him. Lavellan looked up at him from under her lashes, her sinfully perfect lips _coy_. His blatant arousal throbbed, _strained_ against her imagined hand, and he thrust against her small palm, her long fingers teasing, tracing light circles around the head.

Maker’s breath, he could feel the precome beading at the tip. She lowered her head while keeping her eyes locked with his, licked with slow, delicate brush of her tongue. He thumbed at the tip of the head, felt his muscles clench as her imagined mouth slowly, slowly, oh so _slowly_ lowered onto him.

Unable to wrestle back the blazing heat coursing through his veins, Cullen jerked his hips forward into her waiting mouth. She smiled with satisfaction as he rutted like a starved beast, swallowed him deeper and deeper with every thrust, every pump. Her fingers stroked his balls, scratched at his tensed thighs as he explored her small, sweet mouth.

He recalled her resting in bed with hair splayed over her pillows, her scarlet lips parted in a moment of vulnerability. He imagined her licking her lips, reaching up to embrace him as he towered over her in bed. He wanted to lick and kiss along every delicate from of her lithe body, to ravage her and make her know nothing but his embrace, make her scream his name in throes of pleasure.

He remembered how she removed the cloak in the forest, how the pale skin underneath almost held an ethereal glow beneath the moonlight. Cullen yanked her into his arms, pressed his lips to her tender throat and nipped at her, bit her, gripped her slender wrists and guided his cock to her entrance.

He buried his head against the pillow, gripping it until his knuckles whitened while he thrust his hips against his other fist.

Her slim body arched as he pushed inside her, her breathy voice calling for him, begging for him to fill her completely. She writhed against him, her heat flushed against his skin, her sweat slick and warm. His breath grew ragged in time with his pumping hand, muscles clenching, flexing as he plundered her, drowning in pleasure.

Her bells chimed endlessly as he fucked her hard, skin slapping against skin, moans and grunts winding together in a chorus. He growled for Lavellan against his forearm as she took him deeper, faster, more and more. “Lavellan…” He breathed, stroking himself, rubbing his thumb over the head.

Her jingling bells, her lush green tattoo on her cheeks, he recounted her dazzling features one by one, panting, fucking her pussy soaking with her nectar, throbbing, flexing, tight, heat burning as they thundered closer to the end.

Cullen twisted his hand into the sheets, feeling the sweat trickle down, wetting the fabric.

He pulsed, thrummed in time with her imagined gasps, felt her racing heartbeat under his touch. His fingers gripped the silky skin of her breasts, her tight nipples dragging against him, soft flesh a handful in his fist. She panted and moaned as he squeezed harder, arched for him to massage and lick them, nip at them. He left deep crimson love bites on her breasts, marked her even as he drove in again and again into her.

She cartwheeled through the pure white snow, a genuine smile lighting up her angelic face. She bounded toward him like a deer, laughing and chortling with glee as his arrow quivered at the center of the target she created.

“Lavellan!” He cried, feeling his orgasm spurt out into his hand, his muscles clenching near-painfully tight. He throbbed, Lavellan’s hot walls squeezing tight around him as she came with him, her nails digging into his back as she clung to him with all her strength. He collapsed back onto the bed gasping for breath. Sweat beads rolled off his skin and in the dim light and he panted until his heart slowed to regular rhythm. Heavy weight pressed down on his arms and legs in the aftermath of bliss, dragging him down, down into the depths of the Fade.

_It’s been far, far too long._

He grumbled, mustering up the will to roll off the bunk to clean off his seed and to pull on a sleeping shirt and pants. After he tossed the cleaning cloth away he climbed back in, pulling the thick blanket over himself to finally give in to the deep slumber that was lurking just beyond his mind. But even all of his Templar trainings and the bone-deep exhaustion could not stop him from mulling over something.

_Why did I orgasm thinking of her smiles?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so so sorry for the slow update guys! Thank you for your patience :)
> 
> And art credit again, drawn by [nsfwfrosch](http://nsfwfrosch.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! You guys should follow for lot more <3


	19. Era'vun Geal - Night Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“…I love you too.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS: Gore. Graphic Description of Violence. Blood. Trigger Warnings. Death. Cannibalism. Non-consensual sex.**
> 
>  
> 
> You guys should be used to gory stuff by now... but watch out. This one is brutal. Oh, and please, please, please comment!
> 
> Excruciatingly beautiful art is at the bottom for this chapter as well. It was drawn by fantastic [ captainceranna](http://captainceranna.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! Please go check that lovely lady out!

“…ullen? Cullen! Cullen, wake up~”

“Mmmh….”

He rolled over with a low groan, his arm snaking around her dainty waist to bring her flush up against his body. She giggled, snuggling deeper into his embrace.

“Cullen, we’ll be late.” She whispered, even as she laid her head over his arm.

“Neria…” He smiled, pressing his lips to her soft blond hair. He inhaled her scent, a familiar smell of Circle-provided lye soap.

“If we get caught…” she mumbled against his chest.

“We won’t.” He rumbled, pressing light kisses onto her hair.

“Oh?” She grinned, climbing over him as she laid him down flat on his back on the rough straw mattress.

“Come here,” he grabbed at her, hugging her tight within his arms as she squealed in delight.

“Cullen,” she purred, her bright smile shining upon her face, her voice overflowing with gentle love he basked in. He kissed her throat, closing his eyes in bliss.

A droplet of water plopped onto his cheek, and Neria giggled once more at the sight of raindrop on his face.

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered with a grin, wiping at the moisture with the back of his hand. “You’d think with all the Mages in this tower, they’d at least have fixed the leak by now.”

“Oh? Ser Templar, do you require my assistance with your poor, leaky ceiling?” She sat up over his groin, a coy smile gracing her alluring lips. He chuckled at the sight, the petite elf reminding him of a kitten who had a mice trapped under her paw.

“I’d appreciate it, but if you do I’m sure Beval would notice.” He sighed, glancing towards the vacant bed pushed up against the opposite side of the wall. His bunkmate had been assigned the night duty the previous day. And somehow Neria had found out about his friend’s absence and had snuck into his room at moonrise.

“I can fix this side of the room, leave Beval’s side alone.” She shrugged, staring up at the stone ceiling above. He followed her eyes above, just to have two small drops plop onto his face.

“You’d think it was raining within the Circle.” He complained, rubbing the moisture off of his face again. It wasn’t completely odd to think so – they were in a tower full of Mages. It wasn’t so strange to have a rainstorm going on in a room full of apprentices.

“You’re smearing that everywhere. Here, let me.” Neria leaned over him, her pink tongue darting out to lick up the small droplets on his forehead. He grunted, his fingers tangling up in her long, golden mane as he absentmindedly brushed her hair.

But the moisture drip, drip, dripping onto his face did not abate, and finally Cullen looked up once more. The rainstorm should have ceased by now… the Templars on duty would never allow a spell to run rampant for so long.

But he saw Neria’s mouth hovering above him, and instinctively he reached up to kiss her again.

Her kiss was deep, bitter, and coppery. The unexpected metallic tang had him rearing back.

“Neria?” He sat up properly, inspecting her. Was she bleeding in her mouth?

“What’s wrong, Cullen?” She cocked her head, blinking her wide emerald eyes at him. But he focused on her mouth, watched her tongue dart out to lick up the blood drops smeared over her lips.

“Neria, is that blood?” He gripped her, but then another drop fell onto his head.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” She smirked.

“What… what’s going on? What’s…” he trailed off as Neria climbed towards him, her porcelain skin dyeing into purple as she did so.

“Do you love me?” Her contorted voice grinded against him and Cullen pushed her off, sensing something was so very, very wrong.

“I love you, Cullen. Do you love me?” She cackled while black horns burst from her temples, and Cullen screamed, screamed with all he had.

 

*******

 

He started, jerking up from the icy stone floor. The light plop made him turn around, to see the red puddle he’d been lying in crawl further across the bricks with each drop that fell from above. He looked up to see where the drop of blood was falling from.

Beval’s maniacal grin greeted him, his head swaying, swaying above in the air, drip, drip, dripping the blood from up high.

Cullen pressed his fist against his mouth, tasted the bile rising inside. He scrambled backwards, but his hand touched something fleshy behind him.

He turned, ripping his gaze away from Beval’s bodiless head to see Farris crouched over Beval’s icy body.

“Farris…?” He gasped, trembling hand reaching out for the elder Templar.

The man looked up, glazed eyes unable to focus on his face, a dagger held in his hand.

“Mine…” The man whispered, hefting the glinting dagger. “Mine, mine, mine!”

Cullen then saw the man’s mouth, painted crimson with fresh blood.

No. _No_ , it couldn’t be.

He scrambled away on all fours, scream trapped in his throat, toward the other shapeless lump creeping toward the bloody pool.

“Annlise, Annlise? I… I think Farris is…”

But his words faded away, his tongue frozen in place as he saw Annlise clearly in the dim light filtering through the dusty windows.

Beautiful Annlise was kneeling by the pool he was lying in earlier, lapping at the still surface of crimson liquid.

Slurp, slurp, slurp...

“Annlise?” He whimpered, unable to believe his eyes any longer.

“Lyrium, lyrium…” She croaked, puckering her lips to draw in the blood better. “More, I need more…!”

Her crazed eyes lifted to meet his for a moment, blood drip, drip, dripping from her chin.

“Do you have more?” She rasped.

He scampered towards the thrumming barrier, quiet whimpers escaping his lips. He pounded against the spiteful thing, felt his fist crunch under the force of his blows, the blood seeping into the bracers.

“Let me out!” He roared, slamming himself against the magic, Smiting, punching, kicking, wailing against the cage. “Let me out, let me out, let me out!”

“Why do you wish to leave, my love?”

He stiffened, petrified by the voice ringing in his skull.

“Did you not hang that poor boy’s head in chains yourself, so you’d wake from the peaceful slumber?” A desire demon swayed into his view, stroking its swelling breasts, scaly tail sweeping behind.

“A slumber I’d granted you so many times so you could escape this place. Did you not wish to return to this place, my love?”

He howled, a wordless, meaningless screech he screamed with his tainted soul.

“Why do you resist? Why do you suffer?” The demon cocked its head, stroking its own tail.

“Look at your seniors, my love. They’re at peace, love. Their minds are no longer tormented. They are free, from all human restrictions. I offer you the same. Joy, pleasure, happiness, freedom. Anything you want, anything you desire, I can grant it for you. Accept me, my love.”

The demon leaned in close, easily overstepping the boundary set by the electric cage.

“Never!” He clenched his teeth. “Leave me, leave me! Leave me be!”

He fell to his knees, clasping his hands together in prayer.

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just!”

“A shame.” He heard the demon’s voice fade, but he never opened his eyes again, blocking out the hellish nightmare he’d been locked in.

“You broke the others, but I will stay strong! For my sake, as well as theirs!” He sobbed endlessly, praying and praying, wishing for this waking nightmare to end.

“How about for her sake then, my gallant Knight?” The demon cackled, and he screamed. He screamed, to drown out their glee, to drown out the chewing noise from Farris, to drown out the slurping noise from Annlise.

But he could not drown out her whimpers, her pained groans.

His eyes flew open, and once again he was up against the cage.

Looking into the emerald eyes of Neria Surana, tightly held by two desire demons.

_"No!"_

“I’ve found the love of your life, Templar. Your deepest, sincerest desire. I have found it. And I offer it. Take it, make her yours. I offer you what you could never have under the rule of your Maker. I grant you love, the purest emotion one can experience.” The demons spoke, giggling, cackling, squealing.

“Let her go!” He roared, flinging himself against the barrier once more.

“Do you not wish for it? She is your every yearning come to life. Take it, revel in it, seize it!”

“Neria!”

“Cullen…” She sobbed. “Help me…”

“How about you, girl?” The demon trailed a claw along her jaw.

“Do you not long for him? A Templar-Knight, whose purpose is to oppose your very existence? I offer you him. A chance to make him yours, to claim him for all to see.” The demons’ alluring voice caressed them, cherished them.

“No, Neria! Don’t listen to it! Don’t fall for its empty words! It is not capable of carrying out such promises!”

But Neria looked to the demons, her teary eyes glimmering in the starlight. “You can make him mine? You can give me Cullen?”

“Of course, dear girl. Let me in, and you’ll have it all. A future, a husband, your own child away from this suffocating tower. And him, in your life. Forever. Exactly as you’ve pictured it, as you’ve dreamed it in the deepest corners of the Fade. Simply accept me.”

“No! Neria, you will become an abomination! No! Do not give up on yourself. We can survive this, Neria!” He screamed, pounding, pounding, pounding against the cage, hoping to reach the trembling girl across the barrier.

But she no longer heard his cries, no longer saw his tears.

“If you can truly give me Cullen,” she whispered, “I’ll do anything. I’ll do _anything_ , to make him mine.”

He wailed, bloody fists dragging against the barrier as he fell to his knees, weeping, weeping as Neria tilted her head to kiss the demon in front of him. Unable to stop her, unable to tear his eyes away from the rebirth of Neria Surana as an abomination, he howled and screeched, bloody limbs beaten to lumps against the magical cage separating him from one lovely Neria Surana.

 

*******

 

“…ullen? Cullen! Cullen, wake up~”

“Mmmh….”

He rolled over with a groan, his arm snaking around her soft waist to bring her flush up against his body. She giggled, snuggling deeper into his embrace.

“Cullen, I love you.” She whispered as she laid her head over his arm.

“Neria…” He smiled, pressing his lips to her soft blond hair. He inhaled her scent, a familiar smell of Circle-provided lye soap.

“Do you love me…?” she mumbled against his chest.

“Of course.” He rumbled, pressing light kisses onto her hair.

“Really?” She grinned, climbing over him as she laid him down flat on his back on the rough straw mattress.

“Truly,” he grabbed at her, hugging her tight within his arms as she squealed in delight.

“Cullen,” she purred, her bright smile shining upon her face, her voice overflowing with gentle love he basked in. He kissed her throat, closing his eyes in bliss.

But hadn’t he been in this situation before? Hadn’t… hadn’t something like this happened before?

“Cullen, would you do something for me?” She asked, trailing her finder down over his shirt.

Or was he simply mistaken? The words… the words were different, weren’t they? Or… did this really happen?

“For you, anything.” He answered when she nibbled on his earlobe, the pleasant sensation pulling his mind back to his beloved in front of him.

“Really? That makes me so happy!” She beamed, and Cullen no longer cared.

“What would you like, Neria?” He ruffled her hair, looking into her emerald eyes.

“Stay with me, Cullen. Stay with me here, forever. Forget all about the outside world, and remain with me, for all eternity.” She sighed, laying her head down on his chest.

“Neria…?”

“I want you, so badly, for myself. All for myself. Don’t think of anybody but me, Cullen. Don’t look at anyone but me. Touch only me. Will you do that for me?” She murmured, burrowing into his embrace.

“But Neria…” He protested, though he held her tighter. “I have my duties. I’ve sworn my Oaths, Neria. And if we stay in here, we’re going to get caught.”

“We won’t.” She replied, sweeping away any doubt which sprang to his mind with a flick of her hand.

“We… won’t?”

“Who would we get caught by?”

“I…” he paused. He’d been so very worried only moments before. But why? They weren’t doing anything wrong.

“I don’t know.”

“See? Nothing to worry about.”

“But my duties…” He started, lifting himself up from the bed.

“Can wait.” She pushed him back down, leaning close in for a kiss.

“…You’re right.” How could anything be more important than her? He loved her, so dearly. Nothing could possibly compare to her.

“Cullen, I want you.” She sat up over his groin, a coy smile gracing her alluring lips. He chuckled at the sight, the petite elf reminding him of a kitten who had a mice trapped under her paw.

“I am yours, Neria.” He replied, bringing his hand up to stroke her hair.

“No, I mean I _want_ you. I want to… I want to make love to you, Cullen. I want you to be my first, and my last. I want to feel you inside me, and become one…” She murmured, pecking feather light kisses onto his lips.

“How long will you deny me this pleasure? Am I being selfish, wanting to be as close to you as possible? To be one in body and soul with whom I love more than myself?”

“Neria… it’s simply that… you are my charge, and…”

“Do you not love me?” She sat up, tears brimming in her bright emerald eyes. “Are you just playing around with me until a non-Mage will come along?”

“No! Maker’s breath, no! Neria, do not doubt that. Do not ever doubt that I love you.” He sat up and sighed, rubbing at his neck. “Forgive me for giving you such cause to doubt.”

“Then, make love to me Cullen. Please.” She clung to him, looking up at him with pleading eyes glimmering with tears, her elven eyes sparkling in the dim light.

“If you truly love me as you claim, make love to me and prove it.”

“…As you wish, Neria. I would do anything, anything at all if it would please you.”

 

*******

 

“Cullen! Cullen! Get up this very instant, Templar!” A familiar voice cracked and Cullen’s eyes flew open.

He stared up without seeing for a moment, until Neria’s face swam into focus.

Neria’s contorted, savage, shrieking face.

“Cullen, get your wits about you!” The familiar voice snapped again and Cullen scampered back away from his lover who’d been riding him, severing their connected flesh even as the speaker rushed forward with a sword.

“Annlise?” He breathed, too stunned to do little else but to observe.

“I… I thought you were… the lyrium…”

She grit her teeth, her eyes fixed on the shadow ahead of her.

“I’ve drank… enough of Beval’s lyrium to gain myself again. I don’t know how long it will last.”

“So… so this is only temporary…? What… what are you doing?”

And he finally saw it. Annlise, his trusted comrade Annlise, was attacking his beloved, beautiful Neria.

“No…!” He groaned, forcing his limbs to move, praying for the strength to stop Annlise.

“What’re you doing?! Annlise, stop!” He croaked, reaching out towards the two women.

“She’s possessed, Cullen! She was raping you! She was about to possess you too!” Annlise screeched back, parrying an attack from Neria with a loud clang. The grinding sparks flew in the dim cage with every strike.

But what was Neria attacking with? Why would she do that? Didn’t she know it was more likely to turn her Tranquil if she fought? How was she fighting? Why wasn’t she using magic?

Cullen squinted, following the blurry outlines of his lover in the darkness as best he could.

Ebony horns sprouted from her temples, and scaly tail cracked like a whip to exploit the weakness created by Annlise’s lack of shield. Long, curved claws replaced her well-trimmed fingernails, and her porcelain skin was now a exquisite shade of purple.

_No._

No, this couldn’t be possible.

“No!!” He roared, wrenching himself toward the two battling women. He grabbed his sword from the cage floor and rushed at Annlise.

His sword stabbed her square in the back, tearing her spine in two. She fell wordlessly, dead before she hit the bloody stone floor.

“My love,” his Neria grinned, her smile splitting wide open. “You’ve done well.”

“…why?”

“My love?”

“…why? Why, Neria, why?” He wept, his friend’s blood dripping from his word. “Why’d you give yourself to Desire?”

“…because I love you, Cullen.” Neria spread her purple arm out, splaying her clawed fingers towards him.

“Trapped in this Circle, I could never have you. Always hiding behind locked doors, touching you only in the darkest shadows… unbearable. I love you! Why did I have to hide my feelings for you? What about my pure desire for you was so condemnable?!”

“No…”

“I wanted to marry you, to make love to you without the threat of Tranquility! Without that damnable Maker hanging over our head every time! It took me weeks to convince you to kiss me, because it’d be ‘inappropriate’! Why? Why is it inappropriate? Exactly why is our love is so evil?”

“Neria… no…”

“I’ve accepted the reality, my love. We could never be one in this Circle. But the power I have now, I feel it coursing through my veins! I’ve finally held you inside me, as I’ve yearned to do for so long! I’ve made you mine! So love, accept me as I’ve accepted Desire and we can truly be one for eternity. We will…”

Neria paused, looking down at herself to find a bloody sword buried in her breasts.

She touched it, unbelieving, before her emerald eyes looked up to meet his gaze again. Her clawed hand reached for his arm, trembling, trembling until she gripped him tight, her claws digging into his flesh.

“…why, Cullen? Did you… not love me? Was… was it all… a lie?”

She coughed, black blood spurting out from her mouth, spattering against his face. The heat burned against his skin, in the icy cage of Kinloch Hold.

He released his sword and Neria tittered for a moment, before she sank down to the stone floor, her golden locks floating up, her legs crumpling beneath her…

Cullen grabbed her and pulled her into his arms, sinking down onto the floor together, embracing her tighter than ever. Her blond mane settled around them like a fan, the beautiful color dyed crimson by the blood blooming from her breasts.

“Why…? I loved you… so much…” She rasped, her hand reaching up to cup his face.

“…because I love you, Neria. Because I love you.” He wept, kissing her purple lips, stroking her purple skin, petting her crimson hair. He brought his head down to touch her horns, tears flowing, blood flowing.

“I… only wanted… to… be with you…” She cried, her emerald eyes glimmering in the shadow, same as always.

“I loved you… I loved you!” Neria whispered, clasping the heavy, invisible shackles on him.

“I’m sorry, Neria… I’m so sorry… I’m sorry…”

“I… love you, Cullen. I love you…” She repeated those words, again and again, endlessly, akin to silent abuse. With those brutal words she crushed his legs, tore off his arms, ensnared him within the world only they could enter. With those cruel, merciless words, his Neria sealed him in the emptiness left behind by her death.

“…I love you too, Neria.”

_In my darkest hour, I turned from Her and vowed that I would destroy Her._

_At the moment of Her death I knew what I had done, and I wept._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Spite ate away all that was good, kind, and loving till nothing was left but the spite itself, coiled 'round my heart like a great worm._   
>  _And in my darkest hour, I turned from Her and vowed that I would destroy Her._   
>  _At the moment of Her death I knew what I had done, and I wept._   
>  _I shall bring the lands of my fathers to Her Word. Therein lies their salvation and mine._   
>  _And She came to me in a vision and laid Her hand on my heart._   
>  _Her touch was like fire that did not burn. And by Her touch, I was made pure again._   
>  _Despair not, said She, for your betrayal was Maker-blessed and returned me to His side._   
>  _I am forgiven._
> 
>  
> 
> -The Canticle of Maferath


	20. In Mar Lath'in Dys Nuisa - In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “...I will eat my own foot before I’ll ever admit I did this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All elvhen credits to FenxShiral
> 
> Tavinte = Tevinter  
> Ma Serannas = My Thanks/Thank you  
> Falon = friend  
> sethlin = thin blood. Elven term for 'knife-ear' (From DA wikia)

Icy wind whipped through her fur as Soufehla stared down at the large encampment below the hill she was standing on. The torchlight flickered precariously as the winter gust blew without rest, and Soufehla counted the number of people standing on watch. There could be no doubt; it was the main procession of the Circle Mages from the Redcliffe castle.

Her tail flickered, her gaze fixed on the tents billowing beneath them when her wolves nudged her pelt with their noses. She swiveled her head around to watch her pack, feeling their steady yet curious gazes on herself. The alpha wolf licked her snout, and she returned the affection before looking down at the Mages. They weren’t too far away from Haven – they were perhaps a day’s march away at most. Leliana’s scouts would notice them in half a day or less, probably.

She whirled around, heading back into the forest with her pack racing behind her. The Mages would arrive sometime after sunset – and knowing the Commander, he’d have them organized and ready to march out to the Breach in a day or two at most. Everything will be settled then – she would close the Breach and perish along with it, or miraculously survive the feat and return to her clan.

She’d have to wish farewells to all the people she’s met in the Inquisition soon. She’d known them for barely few months… but… empty void gaped where her heart should have been as she thought of parting with these comrades she’s fought alongside.

She’d never meant to get so attached to these strangers, hadn’t ever thought she would. But after the harrowing experience of the crimson future, she’d no choice but to lean on those around her, who offered her companionship, gentle smiles, and simple laughter. To be completely honest with herself… Soufehla knew her heart hadn’t been so carefree in years, despite the apocalyptic world events that she seemed to be smack in middle of.

Soufehla shifted back into her elven form, stopping for a moment to jot down a report for Assan to carry to Deshanna, a warning of the corrupted future, and an update on the situation regarding the Breach. If she survived, she’d be able to meet Assan in the Free Marches. If not, well, she hoped her report would be enough to keep her clan out of the harm’s way even when she was no longer in this world to protect it.

After sending her Assan off with a somber farewell, Soufehla pounced onto the alpha’s back, racing back towards Haven.

“Do you think I’ll survive plugging a hole in the sky?” She asked, leaning low over her wolf. But her wolves did not respond, only ran deep into the night as silent as the moon shining overhead. They knew as well as her what the odds were.

“…honestly, I don’t know if I even want to survive.” She mumbled, barely audible over the pounding paws against the snowy ground.

Her wolf’s heavy tail thumped into her back, nearly throwing her into the heap of snow headfirst.

“Fenedhis! That hurt!” She complained as she tightened the grip on the wolf’s fur. He only puffed out an exasperated breath, the hot steam whipping past as it rushed out of its snout.

“You really didn’t have to whip me for it…” She trailed off, and she swore she could _feel_ him rolling his eyes at her.

“Fine! I’m sorry.” She sighed, laying her head down onto the wolf’s pelt as he ran like the wind. The silvery winter night of the dark forest flew past her, the black shadows and white snow mingling together.

She’d grown soft. She’d been too lenient on herself, enjoying the countless debates with Solas and listening to his tall tales of the Fade realm. Listening to Varric’s unlikely stories of adventures and heroes, watching Sera prank everybody in the Inquisition, sharing a drink with Blackwall, Iron Bull, and Krem… and watching Josie fuss over her… she’d even hoped to have a chance to speak with Leliana about the Hero of Ferelden… there was so much she’d wanted to ask. And Dorian… would she ever find a friend like him again? A man like none other she’s ever met…

And the Commander. He was a… remarkable man. A man who’d allowed her to look beyond her lust for vengeance. An ex-Templar… truly, what an unimaginably… _weird_ time she’s had away from her clan. Heartwarming, but weird. Really weird. She snickered, making the wolves around her rumble.

She sat up, looking high into the sky with the shining moon and the stars. The green glow from the Breach winded through the heavens, reminding her of the aurora she saw when she was a little girl.

Would she be able to return to her clan, return to her old life before the Breach? The acute loneliness which all but skewered her when she parted with her only friend a few years back had been crippling. Even if she were to survive the Breach would she be content to remain with her people, who despised her very existence?

Her wolves skidded to a stop nearby the frozen lake and she looked around before hopping off.

“…Ma Serannas.” She murmured, nuzzling her wolves, stroking their pelts.

“Vegara adahlen, ara’falonaan. Ina, then’ara’sal’in. Ina urvun Ar’nuvena. Ina in Revas’an.” _Go back to the forest, my friends. Live, to your heart’s content. Live the life I wished for. Live where freedom dwells._

Her wolves whined and whimpered, spinning around and head-butting her. The alpha wolf stared at her, his gaze boring in.

“Thank you, really. Without you guys I would never have lived past my childhood. Thank you.” She smiled, petting their furry pelts. “Now go, go and be free as you were meant to be. You too. You have a duty to protect the pact, don’t you?”

The grey wolf suddenly stood on his haunches, towering over her. Within moments she was flat against the ground, trapped beneath the massive wolf.

You better come back alive to us, Sister.

Soufehla started as a rumbling voice echoed inside her head.

“Did you just… talk?! In my head? Wha… how?!”

The wolf growled, pawing at the ground.

“Fenedhis, fen! You can’t just spring that on me and expect me to take it in stride! I know this is emotional, but still! _You can talk?!_ Since when? How?! _”_

The wolf snapped his fang together.

“Fine! Be that way, be… be mysterious and infuriating, you… ugh! I’m going to come back alive and nag and nag until you tell me!”

The wolf snorted amusedly, satisfaction shining in his dark eyes as he released her.

“You got snow all over me.” She muttered, standing and shaking the flakes off.

He just cocked his head with a wolfish grin.

“and… thanks. I’ll see you again, falon.”

The wolves howled, their chorus sending a startled flock of birds bursting from the trees. With that final farewell they parted with her. She watched them vanish into the thick trees she’d now grown familiar with, stared for a long time before she turned and walked back to the Haven alone.

 

***

 

She padded past the rows of tents, taking care to avoid the guards and to keep quiet, unwilling to disturb the tired Inquisition soldiers getting their well-deserved rest. But low groans and grunts floated to her elven ears, and she turned to pinpoint where the sounds were coming from.

_…was that… the Commander’s tent?_

She hesitated only for a moment before intending to simply walk past. She had no business disturbing the Commander at this ungodly hour. But the groans grew louder even as she padded away, to the point where she knew even the shemlen guards on duty would be able to hear them soon.

_...Creators, what am I doing…?_

She sighed, padding over to the dark tent and slipping in like a wisp of breath without alerting the guards. She glided across the small space within to see the familiar man writhing in his bed, twisting and clawing at the sheets.

She needn’t look twice to realize he was having nightmares. Terrors she also experienced so often whenever she visited the Fade at night. With another silent sigh she concentrated her mana into her cheeks and blew it out, creating a fluffy, shimmering curtain with magic. It floated over to the thick fabrics of the tent to muffle the sounds. Beyond its boundaries not a sliver of noise would slip out.

With that done, Soufehla grabbed at the flap to sneak out of the tent when the Commander screamed. She winced, her sensitive ears ringing from his sudden outburst. Creators, whatever painful memories haunted his past, it must be something severe to make a man like him wail so.

_I did not break a decade ago in Ferelden Circle. You will not break me now._

His broken voice from the crimson future whispered within her mind, and she stopped. What had he survived a decade ago, that was comparable to that dark future?

“What’re you doing?! Annlise, stop!” He howled, making her flinch once more. Mythal guide her, how had he managed to hide his nightmares till now? Without her magic surely the entire Inquisition would have been awoken. He roared and twisted, horror etched onto his creased face, eyes screwed shut as a flimsy defense against the incomprehensible terror he battled.

Soufehla tittered for a moment before she snuck closer to the bed, focusing Rejuvenation onto her hand as she knelt down by his side. She couldn’t remember the last time she used her healing spells on someone other than herself. But he was of the Inquisition, a comrade of hers who’d grown on her despite it all. Knowing the dread of frightful dreams so well herself, she could not abandon him in that merciless realm of Fade.

“…you make me do the strangest things, Commander.” She muttered, pressing her fingers to his sweaty forehead. His hair was plastered to his face, but very curly and silken to the touch. It was a little difficult to keep her hand there as his thrashes grew more desperate until the whites of his eyes showed and his fists balled until knuckles whitened. Anxious that he would jerk awake at any moment to catch her trespassing, slowly, quietly, she began to sing.

She recalled the silken, soft words from her childhood. The words her mother’s friends sang for her as she cried in the deep forest night, frightened of violet lightning painting the dark, stormy sky. With her mind filled of her clan’s gentle embrace and kindness she’d basked in during those times, Soufehla breathed those gracious words dear Deshanna once sang for her for this man struggling under the unknown weight of his past, her fingers stroking his hair, her magic restoring the spent energy his body direly needed.

_“Elgara vallas, da’len Sun sets, little one,_

_Melava somniar Time to dream_

_Mala taren aravas Your mind journeys,_

_Ara ma’desen melar But I will hold you here._

_Iras ma ghilas, da’len Where will you go, little one_

_Ara ma’nedan ashir Lost to me in sleep?_

_Dirthara lothlenan’as Seek truth in a forgotten land_

_Bal emma mala dir Deep with in your heart._

_Tel’enfenim, da’len Never fear, little one,_

_Irassal ma ghilas Wherever you shall go._

_Ma garas mir renan Follow my voice-_

_Ara ma’athlan vhenas I will call you home._

_Ara ma’athlan vhenas I will call you home.”_

The Commander’s thrashes diminished and she watched his rigid muscles relax as she recounted the soothing lyrics from her hazy memories. His breaths finally evened out, and his contorted face smoothed out into peaceful slumber.

“...I will eat my own foot before I’ll ever admit I did this.” She sighed, straightening and withdrawing her hand from his forehead. Soufehla turned to pad away from the bunk before she hesitated.

“…ugh. This _never_ happened.”

She stepped back toward the Commander to draw his thrown blanket over him, noticing a dagger resting on his end table as she tucked the edge of the blanket around his shoulders. Afterwards, she watched his chest rise and fall in a smooth, calming rhythm for a moment before slipping out of the tent to head back towards her own cabin.

 

***

 

“…a beehive.”

“A beehive? Really? You know, I’ve never seen one in person before.”

“Of course you haven’t, you spoiled noble Tavinte. Well, Haven is exactly like a beehive.”

“I’d hardly call myself spoiled, love. I’ve been trekking to Maker knows where for Maker knows what without a single servant waiting by my side to peel the grapes for me.”

“And for what purpose do you follow me around?”

“Why, the heretical Herald of Andraste must have the evil Tevinter Magister by her side!”

“And what is your true nefarious objective?”

“So you can admire my marvelous wardrobes, of course.”

“Hmph.”

“Speaking of wardrobes, must you _insist_ on wearing those dreadful furs? You look like a wolf pup being suffocated by a pack of bears.”

“First of all, there _is_ no pack of bears. They don’t travel in packs. Second of all, it keeps me warm. Those belts of yours hardly keep you from freezing this far down South, does it?”

“Ah, but it looks _appetizing_. That’s what matters, love. And are you certain bears don’t form a pack? Because I happen to remember the Seeker pummeling five bears right in the middle of our camp in Hinterlands the other day.”

Soufehla snorted at that, crossing her arms.

“I’m sure they just wanted to greet Cassandra as a fellow bear, with her punching a tree and everything. And I really doubt the Commander is interested in your fancy leathers. As your friend Dorian, I will cast Ice Grasp and end your misery early on. Go ahead and thank me like a _proper_ civilized Altus, Tavinte.” She snickered.

“Such savage words. Did no one ever teach you manners?” Dorian huffed, throwing a side glance at her.

They managed to go for entire two heartbeats before they burst out laughing, bending over to wheeze for breath.

Solas rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny. Have we filled the quota for racial jokes for today?” Varric rolled his eyes at them, barely audible above their gasping laughter.

“Sure, why not.” Soufehla wiped at her eyes, an easy grin springing up on her lips. After the night with the Commander smiles came to her easier than before, even if it was still unfamiliar on her face. But her companions roared with approval and spent every waking moment attempting to make her smile or laugh, shaking away the cobwebs from her unused smiles.

“You two are worse than Hawke. Seriously, who’d have thought?” Varric muttered, watching the bustling Haven along with them.

“But both of us put together is still better than one Sera.” Soufehla quipped, earning yet another approving chuckle from them all.

They sat huddled together on a small hill beside the training fields, watching the buzzing Haven with wary eyes. As Soufehla had predicted the Circle Mages had arrived after sunset last night. Haven had erupted into frenzied commotion since then, with countless messengers racing here and there, soldiers marching around with some unidentifiable purpose, and new Circle Mages complaining, whining, and wailing endlessly about Haven’s accommodations. Between the continuous noise and the bright torch lights illuminating the village like midday sun, Soufehla had given up early on her sleep and had fled to the hills long before dawn. Solas, Varric, and Dorian soon followed after her to avoid the commotion, and to avoid someone yelling at them to do something. She prayed to the Creators that they wouldn’t get sucked into that whirlwind of chaos.

Even as she watched the herbalists ran between the huts with few trail leaves drifting behind them, and Bull was roaring at his Chargers next to the Inquisition stables every time a messenger delivered something new. Requisition officers seemed to have fire set on their feet, never once slowing or stopping as they practically flew around the small village. Leliana’s spies and scouts were riding out or returning every hour or so, and what little remaining Orlesian noble shems flocked like frightened chickens. Some were screaming for their sethlin to bring their carriages to flee the place altogether.

Excited livestock added to the volume of the noise resonating from Haven, and with the amount of activity barreling through the village Soufehla was quite astounded that the walls hadn’t collapsed already.

And as if this havoc wasn’t enough of a turmoil, Sera was busy as a bee (ha! That was a good one, right? Creators, what’s become of me?) pranking anything and everything that even remotely breathed. Cassandra and Blackwall were somewhere yelling at Inquisition soldiers, and Leliana was practically chained to the War Table with dozens of crows perched around her, fluffing their feathers. Josie was buried under heaps of papers at her desk, and the Commander has been yelling at other recruits since the arrival of Mages over by…

_Oh no_

Said Commander was striding towards where they huddled in the snow, his steps far too purposeful for her liking. She hadn't noticed him since the glare of rising sun was blinding her, giving the golden man the rare chance to get too close before she could escape. Soufehla folded into herself to squeeze between Solas, Varric, and Dorian, trying to seem invisible.

_Right. As if that would ever work._

The golden Commander bore down on them, his amber eyes glaring down as they all swallowed and shuffled closer to each other.

“And what do you think you’re doing here?” His deep voice rumbled, and she found that she couldn’t quite look him in the eyes.

Dorian nervously cleared his throat, as did Solas.

_“Well?”_

“We have observed the situation and unanimously agreed that it’d be best if we were to avoid disturbing the hardworking members of the Inquisition.” Solas answered.

Thank the Creators for his skills with words...

But the Commander wasn’t one to be deterred so easily. He folded his arms and glared down at them, making them all cough and wiggle awkwardly.

“Hey Curly, loosen up a bit. You can’t hardly yell at the Herald of Andraste and her trusted followers for searching for some quiet and peace just for a short while.”

Soufehla thought Varric’s chest hair might catch fire from the Commander’s irritated glare.

“Alright, alright! We’ll help! The things that gaze does to me cannot be resisted.” Dorian finally yielded, standing to pat off the snow.

“Varric, assist the requisition officers. Solas, I believe the healers were looking for you. Dorian, I entrust you to handle that Sera. If she breaks one more thing I will personally hold you responsible.”

Dorian’s face grew ashen and Soufehla could not help but snort, which she immediately regretted as the Commander’s gaze focused onto her.

“And for you,” he rumbled. “I expect you to be warm and rested within your cabin.”

“But…” she started.

“ _Lavellan,_ ” he near growled out her name, making Varric and Dorian snicker. She also heard Solas swallowing his laughter into a chuckle.

“I meant now.” The Commander snapped and her friends scrambled away, though as always Dorian somehow managed to put that stylish strut into his steps.

“I am more than rested, Commander. If I'm shut in that cabin for much longer I may wither up and die of boredom.” She tried again.

“…Lavellan, we cannot know how you will be affected.” He gave a weary sigh, dropping down to sit by her in the snow.

“The best of the Mages are ready, but…” he trailed off, looking toward the Breach glowing as always in the heavens. The scarlet sunrise shined through the eerie green, dyeing the brightening morning sky with an unsettling mix of glow that held an ethereal beauty.

The achingly chilly morning air rushed into her lungs, and Soufehla breathed in deep. The day was magnificent, the most magnificent morning she’s ever seen. White cotton clouds floated by lazily, and golden sunlight basked the land while the pure white snow sparkled like gems in its light. The scene all but tore her away from Haven buzzing with activity, the serenity of this calm morning becoming one with her.

“Last time, your mana was depleted to the point that you nearly died.” The Commander continued on, also looking out to the dazzling frozen lake.

“One more minute, one more second of rest could be the difference between life and death. Lavellan, there’s still much left to do until we march. There is time. Go rest.”

“…how about you, Commander? You must rest too.” She murmured, gazing out to the far horizon. The mountains stood taller and prouder than ever before. She remembered his screams ringing in her ears, saw the fatigue clinging to his form.

“There will be time to catch my breath after the Breach is sealed.” He sighed, rubbing at his neck.

“I thank you for the concern, but I am as rested as I can be. It is… easier, to bear the passage of time if I’m with the others.”

They sat together, a calm silence enveloping them. The turmoil of Haven faded away into the winter wind until nothing but the two of them and the scenery they looked to remained.

“…are you worried?” His quiet voice rumbled.

“I am… conflicted.” She smiled. “I am but one elf, but they say the world needs me. They say I must seal the Breach in the sky.”

“…no, you’re not one elf.” He murmured.

“Commander?”

“You’re not just one elf, Lavellan. You’re a woman… I mean, a combat Mage and…” He trailed off, frustrated sigh escaping him. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yes, Commander. I am indeed all those things.”

“Maker’s breath. What I _mean_ to say, is that you are our comrade. I will… no, we will not fail you. We will make certain that you come back from this mission alive and whole, Lavellan.”

“…even though I cause so much trouble?”

“Even still,” he smiled down at her. “I would see you live, Lavellan.”

“…thank you, Commander.” She smiled, the smile he’d returned to her.

They returned to the comfortable silence, gazing far away. She felt the heat radiating from him, their arms almost brushing against each other’s, and yet not quite touching. His blood called to hers as always, and a thought struck her.

She pulled out a bottle of lyrium from her belt pouch, watching the glimmering liquid sparkle in the morning sunlight.

“Did you know? I have never used lyrium before, Commander.”

“Not once?”

“Never. It is the substance which gives power to Templars. I did not want such a thing within me. I used to gather it up and trade for things I needed in shemlen villages instead.”

“But you’ve battled countless times since the Conclave. You must’ve…”

“No. I gave it all to Solas and Dorian whenever they needed it. I… the lyrium…”

She fell silent, unable to continue. She returned the liquid to her belt pouch, a thousand thoughts rushing by. Could he understand the hatred that entwined around her? The sickly, corrosive thing that clung to her with dreadful claws? No matter how she cleaned herself, it marked her. She could not bear the thought of sharing the same substance with the Templars, allow such a thing to enter her bloodstream.

“I pray to the Maker you can survive this without using lyrium as well.” He murmured, and she finally met his eyes. His lyrium sang its sweet, nauseating song, calling to her magic. But his golden eyes shined for her in the bright sunlight and she smiled with him.

“I will try.”

They looked out to the shining blue frozen lake once more, her sharp eyes picking up the hints of fish swimming under the thick layer of ice. Perhaps she’d be able to return to this place to fish in the spring with her newfound comrades. Grilling them over the hot campfire during the night while ale and tall tales flowed freely. Laughing and singing as her clan mates used to, perhaps she’d be able to sit on a log right by the fire and enjoy the companions of the Inquisition without the Breach glowing in the sky.

“Humor me.” Commander started, drawing her attention back.

He fumbled in his cloak until something was gripped in his gloved hand, which he handed to her. He spread his palm out, and she saw the blue glowing vial resting there.

A Templar’s lyrium. A draft meant for the dogs of the Chantry.

She nearly snarled, hackles rising, fangs erupting out. Soufehla clenched her fists, felt her claws digging in.

“We don’t know what you’ll face – carry it with you.” He continued, ignoring the grimace that must be plain on her face.

“Commander-”

“It can’t hurt. I know it is foolish, but… I’d feel better if I knew you were carrying this Lavellan.”

She glared at the philter, at the blue liquid. She sensed the throbbing power, the sweet, sick song calling out from the vial.

“I’m not asking you to use it. Just… just in case, Lavellan. Return it to me later if… well…”

_If you’re able to._

A Templar’s lyrium. The Commander’s lyrium.

“Will you be alright without it, Commander?” She asked, watching him grimace as well.

“I’ll make do.”

“…I’ll return it.”

She laid her hand over his, grasping the warm vial. She placed it in her breast pocket before standing, watching him stand up as well. It was time to burst out of this quiet bubble and return to reality – to Haven.


	21. In Mar Lath'in Dys Nuisa (ta) - In Your Heart Shall Burn (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Ar raja ma, vhalla ash!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some elvhen credits to FenxShiral
> 
> da'lan: little one - term of endearment  
> seth'lin: literally= thin blood. Means flat-ear. Taken from da wikia page.  
> uthenera: literally = long sleep or endless dream. Immortal elves would enter this slumber-like state instead of dying. Taken from da wikia page.  
> Falon'Din: god of death and fortune who guides the dead to the Beyond. Taken from da wikia page.

Screen cap credit to [cantkeepmyeyesoff](http://cantkeepmyeyesoff.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! 

“Third unit, march!”

A lieutenant’s voice rang out above the clamors of soldiers, soon followed by the crunching noises of snow crushed under heavy boots. Soufehla marched along with the others, her feet stomping through frozen snow.

She was placed into the third unit of soldiers along with Solas, while Cassandra led the second unit. None she knew personally was placed in first, as that was the unit with highest risk of encountering a demon they weren’t aware of lurking about. And despite her own battle prowess, she was far too valuable to risk on an operation such as scouting.

So she quietly put one foot in front of the other, surrounded by dozens of soldiers, ploughing through the path already stomped out by the first and second units that’s gone ahead. Perhaps it’s because she’s already accepted her death. Perhaps she’s finally gained the courage to face Falon’Din and shaken off the fear of passing into the Beyond. Or perhaps the fear itself has numbed her to its presence. But whatever the reason may be, despite suspecting she walked to her death Soufehla couldn’t help but yawn. It was surreal, she mused. Soufehla was rather glad that the nervousness and anticipation of climactic doom did not creep onto her. Better to leave the world laughing and full of confidence than shivering in fear like a common seth'lin.

“Da’lan,” Solas spoke, too low for shems surrounding them to hear. Soufehla gave him a swift glance, but otherwise pretended as if she heard nothing. The shemlen soldiers marched on, oblivious.

“We stand on the verge of change, da’lan. Your actions today will forever decide the fate of the world.”

Soufehla tossed her head, and Solas continued.

“For what do you seal the Breach for?” He paused, giving her a moment to think.

What _did_ she want to seal the Breach for? Despite its Mark on her left hand, the Rift was no longer a threat on herself. The demons were no longer falling out of it. If she were to go around the world sealing the little Rifts, the dangers posed to this continent by the demons would diminish as well. Perhaps with time, sealing the small Rifts would mend the Breach itself and the dark, crimson future may never come to pass. It was only a theory, but still a possibility. There was no reason for her to rush headlong into this mad attempt at sewing the heavens shut.

But she thought of Dorian’s perfectly curling mustache, of Varric’s chest hair shaking as the stout dwarf laughed, and of Solas’ quiet chuckles. She remembered at Sera’s obnoxious pranks, Bull and his Chargers’ loud and off-key singing, and Cassandra and Leliana’s devout faith in their Maker. Josie’s kind smile lured her own smile to shine on her face, Blackwall’s heartfelt approvals straightened her back and made her stand tall with pride, and the Commander’s sparkling amber eyes warmed her beating heart.

Perhaps, she had found the reason to seal the Breach along with a way to seal it.

“Da’lan, remember your People.” Solas murmured, meeting her gaze.

“They stand with you.”

* * *

Solas watched the little da’lan think, bemused by the way she chewed on her lips. He also noticed the exact moment when she’d arrived at her answer by the way her eyes softened, by the way her lips curved up into a quiet smile.

And he knew exactly what answer she’s arrived at. He’d spent the past seven years watching this little da’lan, heard her deepest secrets and her most desperate wishes whispered inside her dreams. He knew her better than any, even herself. And there ever was only one motivation for her actions. Her Clan. Her desire to be accepted as a member of her Clan, her hunger for companionship, her yearnings for their love were etched deep into her heart, fueled her every motion. It was a twisted, corrosive bond she carried with her Clan, but what better to motivate her to save the world than to remind her that her very own Clan was in danger until she did so?

“Da’lan, remember your People.” He said, too low for the shems to hear.

“They stand with you.”

She looked up at him, her bright eyes steeled in resolve.

“I am the First to Clan Lavellan.” She growled, her voice icy.

“Your Clan relies on you, da’lan.” He whispered.

“It is my duty to protect Clan Lavellan, no matter the cost. I will seal the Breach, and fulfill my duty.” She replied.

“And you will succeed.”

“Of course. Failure will not be tolerated.” She tossed her head, the bells jingling with the motion.

“The Breach will be sealed today. No other outcome is possible.” Soufehla hissed, and marched on.

 

*******

 

“Snap to it!”

“Oy there, don’t fall off!”

“Fourth unit in place, ser!”

“Maker, stop the chit chat over there and focus!”

“Fifth unit, report?”

“Ready here as well, ser!”

Solas watched the shems scurry about, moving into position around the blast site within the Temple. Da’lan was standing right nearby the first Rift, patiently waiting for the soldiers to signal for her to start. Like him, she was willfully ignoring the whirlwind of commotion as others prepared for the Herald of Andraste to mend the heavens.

Little da’lan stared at her hand, at his magic crackling on her palm. Even standing this far off, he could sense his old magic calling to the Breach. It thrummed in tune with the beat of the Breach, and with the beat of da’lan’s heart. He felt a ghosting ache in his own palm, from the memories of time back then… from across his endless lifetime while he was a living god.

He closed his eyes for a moment, the screams of his People screeching in his mind. But for now, he allowed the memories of his pitiful failure to fade from his awareness. Focusing on his budding admiration for the courageous da’lan, he cleared his thoughts of time before his uthenera. Steady images of da’lan’s determined gaze filled his heart instead, and Solas was finally ready to fix one of his many mistakes.

“Mages! Focus past the Herald! Let her will draw from you!”

He cried, lifting his staff high into the air. Mages fell to their knees as one on his command, their mana pooling thick around da’lan. It was time.

Soufehla took a step toward the Breach. And another. Solas stood and watched her advance, standing his ground against the blinding glare of his magic sizzling and cracking, refusing da’lan’s entry.

But she pressed on, rejecting even the notion of backing down. Solas saw her glare at the Rift, saw how she poured her anger, hatred, and strength into his magic to power it. He knew she was thinking of her duty to her Clan then – the look upon her face was once etched onto his own thousand years ago when he erected the Veil.

His magic roared, denying her will, balking at the foreign presence attempting to command it. But paying it no heed, da’lan thrust her hand up at the Rift and his magic burst forward and connected to the Breach. It howled and wailed, seeking for its rightful master, seeking _him_ – and hearing its cry set his flesh alight with long-forgotten power. He trembled, the da’lan’s magic being poured into his own ripping him through the passage of time before his mistakes.

Da’lan threw her head back and howled, her scream blended with a voice of a wolf’s by the effect of his magic – and he threw his head back and howled in response. His old magic, so close, so so _close_ , so aching, writhing against a stranger’s command, and he felt his own claws and fangs itching to erupt from him, to return to his old form of _Fen’Harel_.

It was then da’lan dipped into the pool of gathered mana, wrenching him back to the present. The disgusting, sickly oozing magic of shems clung to his magic, and Solas gasped. His eyes bore into the blazing Mark carved into da’lan’s hand, and he howled his frustrations, his wrath at having his Anchor seized by another, at the very _indignation_ , the insult being done to him by this thievery.

Her hoarse voice responded to his call, scratchy and weak with strain, and the pain she suffered by his magic finally reeled him in, entrapped his old self within the current flesh again. Biting down on his lips, he cracked down on his raging instincts and focused on the precious da’lan struggling with his power.

She wrestled with his magic stubbornly, refusing to back down even an inch. She tugged and tugged, demanding the Breach be closed, demanding his magic answer to her commands.

It was his Anchor she tried to overwhelm, his magic she trembled with. _His_.

And it was his precious da’lan trying to commandeer his magic. None other than this da’lan who brought him out into this mangled world.

He looked to the heavens, looked to his magic, to the hole gaping in the Veil, his creation. So much of this was born from his mistakes… and it was she who was mending his faults, not him.

The Anchor which should have been on his self was carved into the palm of another. And despite the odds laid before her, she fought to the teeth with pride and honor. For this da’lan, just for this precious child, he would allow the exploitation of his powers as a god. Raising his fist towards the Breach, he roared with the authority of Fen’Harel.

_Ar raja ma, vhalla ash! I command thee, accept her!_

Da’lan yanked at the Anchor, and with his command his magic gave. Feeling the mark yield, da’lan wrenched harder at the Breach, the glowing tower of his magic pulling, tugging until it exploded in spectacular shower of lights.

The eruption whipped through the ranks of Inquisition, the gust of air knocking most shems from their feet, but Solas remained rooted to the spot. He picked up the vague commands for the soldiers to light the torches, as the light from the Rift and the Breach had gone out plunging them all into darkness. Through the rustle and clanging of scrambling shems, blindly groping about for torches, Solas gazed at the dim figure of his da’lan. With his elven eyes he saw her standing, reaching for the sky with her hand where the scar remained. He thought that perhaps there was a sparkle of wetness on her cheeks… but it was probably the remnants of his magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't think I've ever read this scene in Solas' POV, so decided to give it a try. Did you guys like it?
> 
> and... vote!   
> Soufehla x Solas vs Soufehla x Cullen!


	22. In Mar Lath'in Dys Nuisa (tan) - In Your Heart Shall Burn (3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Forces approaching! To arms!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seth'lin: literally= thin blood. Means flat-ear. Taken from da wikia page.  
> Hunvhen: Qunari. Credit to FenxShiral  
> durgen'len: dwarf.
> 
> Kudos & comments please!

Screen cap credit to [cantkeepmyeyesoff](http://cantkeepmyeyesoff.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! 

Roaring bonfire with flames jumping high into the night sky – it was a sight to be seen. Flames licked at the logs piled on top, and danced hand in hand with the people of Haven. Swallowing the crackle of fire was the unbridled laughter of Inquisition. Near hysterical glee of having survived the torn sky, of seeing the Breach sewn shut has tipped them over the edge. A bard thrummed her lute and sang till her voice reached the far corners of the village. Dancing shems surrounded the fire, spinning and turning, feet drumming against the packed down dirt. Drinks flowed like river, a tankard in hand for every living soul, and a toast to each and every poor sod lost to this world by the Breach and its demons.

They praised her name and sang of her deeds, clinked the tankards together and danced the night away. Herald, they cheered. Herald of Andraste, blessed she is! Delivered to us in time of darkness, savior of us all! Drink to her health, and toast to her deeds!

Soufehla looked to them and raised her tankard, doused in the erupting cheers. Worshiping the imagined vision of Herald of Andraste, they cried and hugged each other, relief spilling over into unrestrained celebration lighting up the darkest hours of the night.

Last night for her! They seemed to chant in Soufehla’s mind. Last night for her to be free in this world. Her meager possessions already packed into a small bag rested in her cabin, calling, calling, calling to her soft in the wind. Last night! Celebrate while you can, for with breaking dawn your duty calls you back to the Clan! Her sworn service to Inquisition was until the Breach was closed.

With the heavens scarred but mended as Solas and Cassandra told her, back she must fly to the Clan in the North! So drink and laugh, sing and dance the night away, little wolf, because come the morn back you shall go to the beloved Clan in the North! Beloved, precious Clan Lavellan waiting for their First with bated breath, I’m sure.

So sing, as if this was the last day on this world, for never again you will have the cause to sing! Laugh like Falon’Din’s come to take you away, for never again you shall laugh! Dance the night away, with your quick feet flying high into the sky! For your beloved Clan shall shackle them down for the remaining years of your life! Drink, drink, drink! It is the last night of freedom!

Soufehla swayed, the voices shrieking in her mind urging her on. She drank and drank, laughed with hollow glee, danced with people who were not her lethallin, and sang along to the tunes carried by shems. One night where everything was permitted. One night to indulge, to thank the gods for her continued survival! The last night before her long-awaited return to her precious, precious Clan in the North!

She choked on her drink, coughing and hacking the ale out of her lungs. She was _happy_ , she told herself. Happy, happy, happy! No more! She would have to put up with these shems and seth’lin no more! No more tolerating Templars fighting by her side! No more Inquisition clinging to her Mark!

“Get her another round, will you?” Dorian, no Tavinte, boomed to the shem manning the bar.

“Can’t let her dry up tonight, not tonight!” Varric… the durgen’len cried.

The Warden shem and the seth’lin with a bow echoed his words, sprawled on the floor. The Hunvhen laughed, drunk blind with his Chargers. Seeker was nodding off to her side, leaning against the elf as they dozed together. The ambassador and spymaster giggled together at the look on her face, and… the Commander… no, the _Templar_ , chuckled and poured half his drink into her own tankard.

“I’ve got you, Lavellan.” He grinned.

She was happy, she swore. Ecstatic! It wasn’t a pathetic sob she bit back, definitely wasn’t! It was relief! Relief that she wouldn’t have to face this man ever again! Never again, not any of them. One more night until she carved them all out of her life.

She chugged the ale, her ringing ears hearing the howls of laughter and approving whoops.

“Bring on something stronger, our glorious leader is on fire!” Someone cried.

Something stronger, _yes_. Something strong enough to wipe the memories clean, enough to quiet the whispers in her mind. She needed something stronger!

Her gods must have been listening, because that’s when it rang. The warning bells pierced the warm air of the rowdy night, screeching bells ding, ding, dinging to wake the slumbering sense of danger. It pounded into them, bringing all to their feet, blazing away the supposed security of her last night.

“Forces approaching! To arms!” The Comm… no, the Templar bellowed. He was gone in a flash, bolting towards the gate.

Something stronger, yes. Not quite what she expected, but its effectiveness in wiping her mind clean couldn’t be questioned.

“Wake up!” She yelled, shaking and kicking her drunk companions… the Inquisition members. Half-throwing Cassandra out into the snow, Soufehla sped towards the gate after the Templar. Chaos tugged at her with each step she took, the villagers panicking in the face of approaching danger. Shems squawked with fear and those still sober enough screamed for the drunks to wake up, to pick up their arms to fight. Healers ran for the herbs next to Chantry while soldiers barreled through them to get to the gate, and Soufehla saw more than one heap of entangled limbs.

She waded through it all, focused only on reaching her destination. She burst through the wall of writhing masses, somehow managing to haul Cassandra, no, the Seeker along with her.

“Situation?” She panted, amazed at how fast the Templar had gotten to the gate.

“One watchguard reporting. It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.”

“Who’s attacking?” Seeker panted out, the cold winter night bringing life back into her eyes.

“They march under no banner. We do not know.” Templar replied.

“I know!”

They all whirled around at the sudden voice, at the pounding gate.

“I know! Open. I can’t come in unless you open!”

“…is it one of yours, Leliana?”

“No. None of my agents are out in the field right now.”

They stared at the gate mutely for a moment, and Soufehla growled.

“Are we just going to stand here?”

“But…”

“We can kill whoever it is if they’re hostile. I’m opening the gate.”

She sprang forward and threw the gate open before any of them could stop her. A young boy stabbing a Templar bruiser greeted her sight, strewn corpses telling of the battle this stranger had won.

The boy looked up and jumped right up to her, and Soufehla ripped her staff off her back to block his advance. But instead of bringing his daggers up to slash her, he spoke.

“I’m Cole. I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you.” He paused, and cringed.

“You probably already know.”

“State what you know. Who’s coming?” She snapped.

“The Templars come to kill you.” He murmured.

_Templars._

Massive force, of Templars. To kill her.

Her blood rejoiced, singing in her veins. Templars to hunt, to kill! To slaughter, to butcher! What a fine present the gods have sent to her! One last hunt to satisfy the thirst burning in her throat – to rip them to shreds, to tear them apart, to…

“Templars? Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the Mages? Attacking blindly?” Templar’s voice wrenched her out of her bloodlust, and she blinked. Her response just now… was a little disconcerting.

“The red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you. You took his Mages. There.” The boy pointed, and Soufehla followed his finger to find a monstrous creature climbing over the ledge. She couldn’t help but gasp at the sight, at the blighted thing with red lyrium embedded in its flesh. Long black claws extended from its hand, and its mouth was split and twisted into an eternal smirk.

“He’s very angry that you took his Mages.” The boy whispered.

Enraged war cries erupted from the enemy ranks, and Soufehla whipped around to look at the Templar. It was no time to be standing around gawking at whatever that _thing_ was.

“Commander!” She snapped. If anybody could find a way out of this hopeless situation, it would be this man. To increase the survival chance of Inquisition, she shifted her priorities to his commands. “Your orders!”

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. You, get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can!” The Templar barked, and she sprinted out through the gates. Just this once, to save the Inquisition, she would answer to the Templar’s… no, to _his_ commands. Just this once.

“Inquisition, attack!” She screamed, leading the vanguard against the corrupted Templars.

“With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!” The soldiers roared, jumping headlong into the frenzied skirmish in a desperate grab for the trebuchets.

“Elgar’nan lead us to victory!” She shouted, gathering power into her hands. Crackling electricity sizzled until they burst forth, striking down the Templars in vicinity.

“With the Herald!” Seeker screamed, bludgeoning a Templar with her shield. Others quickly took up her cry.

“Protect the trebuchet!” Tavinte shouted.

“Keep them off us!”

“Soldiers, fortify the right flank, hold the line! Mages, ice wall on the left flank!” The Templar shouted.

Soufehla saw him for a brief moment in the tumbling chaos, and realized he had joined the fight too.

Good thing too, she thought, as the red Templars started to spill into the clearing. The nightmarish warriors she and Tavinte’s seen in the crimson future were charging forward to meet them in battle, each of them brandishing swords and armors clustered with red lyrium.

“Mages, focus-”

She staggered as the familiar wave of sickness tore through her. Mages standing behind her groaned and fell to the ground, and breathing through the tears welling in her eyes Soufehla noticed the red Templars calling on their abilities. Smiting the Mages supporting the Inquisition, the red Templars ripped away their magic and rendered them useless.

“Lavellan!” She heard the Templar shout, and ducked to hear an axe whistle across where her head had been. Soufehla had allowed one to approach too close in that split second when her magic was nullified.

“I’m fine!” She yelled back, backtracking as a red Templar came swinging the axe around. She dodged each blow with miniscule twist of her body, adjusting to the rhythm.

“Fall back! Fall back! Mages, fall back! Archers line up!” The Templar shouted out orders once more, but Soufehla was in far too deep to fall back to the safety of the Haven’s walls. In the edge of her vision, she saw the Circle Mages scurrying away through the line formed by Inquisition archers, and knew there wouldn’t be many casualties.

“Dorian, fall back!” She screamed at the Tavinte, hearing the man pant somewhere to her left while she rolled to avoid another axe swing.

“You first!” Tavinte snorted, and Soufehla swore she was going to strangle that man once this was over.

“Both of you fall back!” The Templar roared at them. She saw him dispatch two red Templars with ease to turn towards her.

She couldn’t be outdone by some Templar now, could she? She swept in low, kicking out at the red Templar with an axe to take out his legs. With a cumbersome armor the man fell back with a thud, and lighting fast, she was up on him. With a strangled cry she brought her staff down onto his face and felt it crunch under her blow.

“Archers, fire!” Someone ordered, and she heard the arrows whistle over her head to slam into the Templars. Shrieking in pain, they fell like logs around them.

“Reload!”

“Is that damned trebuchet ready yet?” Dorian, no, Tavinte shouted.

“Almost! Just a little more!”

Soufehla pounced at the next red Templar, striking at their philtrum with her staff. She felt the satisfying thwak as the man screamed in pain.

Turning around, she saw the golden Templar bashing an enemy in with his shield and turning around. He started towards her to close the distance, thinking her to be defenseless in light Dalish armor amidst the hostile Templars without her magic. But Soufehla watched the defeated red Templar writhing on the ground. It twisted and turned, creaking until it suddenly burst into a grotesque form encased in red lyrium, like how the Commander had been in the crimson future. Letting out an ear-splitting shriek it towered above the Templar, bringing its claw high up to strike the man down from his unguarded back.

Fenedhis, there was no way she was going to keep this secret anymore, was there? With a familiar motion – Creators, how long had it been? – Soufehla drew the hidden knife from her armor and threw it with deadly accuracy at the monster’s blazing eye behind the Templar. It arched up to find its target, digging in deep in its socket. The creature screeched and stumbled, slashing down at the Templar in blind rage.

The Templar followed her knife and turned around in time to see the strike coming, twisting out of its way at the very last second. She saw him reeling back, saw the spray of blood spurting onto the snow.

“Commander!” She screamed, lurching towards him.

“I’m fine!” He responded, placing a gloved hand over his mouth.

“It’s just flesh wound.” He shouted at her.

“It better be!” She shouted back, drawing her Dar’Misu out from their hidden sheaths. Soufehla was never helpless, never defenseless, not after that incident. With her comforting daggers in hands, she carved through the red Templars like a whirlwind.

“Dorian, fall back!” She shouted again, “Solas already did!”

“Fine, miss I-can-fight-with-knives! I’ll be back, mark my words!” Tavinte huffed before fleeing the clearing, and she finally breathed a sigh of relief. Only the non-Mages and herself remained around the trebuchet. She turned and jumped, slicing the jugulars of the red Templars as she ran past them. Thick blood burst onto her as they fell limp in her path, pitiful gurgle quieting into eventual silence.

She jumped to land on the trebuchet platform.

“Is that Maker-damned trebuchet ready yet?” Seeker roared somewhere, and the durgen’len quickly echoed the question.

“It’d be really nice if we didn’t end up an ugly smear on its wooden beams!”

“It is! Everybody brace!” Soufehla yelled, aiming the trebuchet at a mountainside.

“What-” a soldier tried to stop her, but Soufehla kicked at the hatch to release the shot. It flew away in the darkness to slam into the mountain base.

As she’d hoped, snow piled precariously on its bank started to rumble and crack, sliding down the slope in a flash to bury the army in its furious path. The landslide grew and grew until it swallowed up most of the Templars in its embrace.

“Yes!” Hunvhen and his Chargers cheered, and Soufehla let out a quick breath. They stood a chance now.

“Duck! Everybody duck now!”

She dropped just in time to keep her head, as a _dragon_ flew over them.

A dragon, by the Creators! Would this nightmare _ever_ end?

“Back to the Chantry, now! Move!” The Templar’s order rang out over the ranks and they moved, scrambling after one another to flee the open space where a _dragon_ could pick them off at its leisure.

“Lavellan, get everyone back to the Chantry! It’s the only building that might hold against… that beast!” Soufehla nodded as she ran past the Templar, stabbing a red Templar in the face as she did so. She heard the gate slamming closed behind her.

“Situation?” She panted, looking up at the Templar. His lips were bloody, and he spit out a glob to talk.

“Dire. At this point… we can just make them work for it.” He growled, bitterness etched in deep to his voice.

“…go. Lead the people. I’ll gather the stragglers.” She told him, stepping up close. She wiped the flowing blood from his mouth, and threw haphazard healing on him.

“Lave-”

“You can’t look injured, it’ll lower the morale. I’m sorry, my magic isn’t completely back yet. Find Solas to heal it better for you, or it’ll scar.”

With that she turned around and ran out to find the people still locked in fights across the village. She found the villagers trapped in burning buildings, found the soldiers tossing their lives away to buy time for the civilians, and Templars desperately cutting down their brethren in tears. Her Dar’Misus rose and fell with each breath she took, spilling the lifeblood of her enemies. Gripping the slippery hilts of her daggers, she herded the few survivors into the Chantry.

“Move! Keep going! The Chantry is your shelter!”

She pelted across the last bit of the clearing and skidded in, watching the soldiers slam the heavy doors behind her shut with a resounding thud. Finally, there was a moment to breathe. Trembling with exertions, Soufehla stumbled onto a pile of sacks and dropped down, gasping for breath.

“Here, drink.” As if he’d been waiting for her, Tavinte appeared next to her and handed her a waterskin. She took it and drained the contents, desperate to quench her thirst.

“They’re arguing, unsurprisingly. I think Roderick just told them there’s a way out of this lovely village.”

“Yeah?” She panted, wiping at her mouth. “Where are they?”

“There.” He pointed, and Soufehla find a small huddle of Inquisition leaders not too far from her.

“Thanks.” She sighed, forcing herself to her feet and staggering over to where the leaders of Inquisition were whispering furiously.

“There is a path!”

“It doesn’t mean much when we’ll get annihilated trying to use it!”

“There must be a way-”

“Not if we can’t turn their attention elsewhere.”

“With our remaining force-”

“That’s not enough! They have a Maker-forsaken dragon!”

Oh.

_Oh._

Her thrumming heart calmed to a gentle drum.

Her heavy breaths quieted to serene tempo.

Her roaring blood cooled in her veins. She took a step, then another, gliding across the floor.

“Go.” She murmured, startling them. Leliana, Josephine, and… and the Commander. Dorian… her friend Dorian came chasing after her, placing his hand on her shoulder.

“Lavellan!” The Commander started, but she shook her head, gentle sway twinkling her bells woven into her hair.

“That thing is here for me, and I’ll make him fight for it.” She smiled. A quiet smile spreading on her lips, so peaceful, so tranquil upon her face. “There’s a surviving trebuchet I can turn around to bury Haven. I’ll distract him.”

“And when the mountain falls? What about you?”

No answer found a way to her lips.

“…perhaps you will surprise it, find a way…” He tried, but she shook her head. After a forced breath, the Commander visibly steeled and strode towards the people of Haven, and ordered them to move.

“Inquisition! Follow chancellor Roderick through the Chantry! Move!” He barked out, and Soufehla was glad for the noise disrupting the stillness growing between the leaders of Inquisition. Spurred by the bustle of activity, Josephine threw herself into her arms.

“Josie, Josie. It’s okay.” She chuckled, patting the pretty ambassador on her hair.

“But…!”

“Shh, it’s okay.” She smiled, and gently removed her from her embrace.

“Leliana, take care of them all for me.” She looked to her, and her stormy grey eyes promised her that she would protect them all from harm no matter the cost. Soufehla clutched at her hand, before entrusting shivering Josephine to her.

“Venhedis!” Dorian swore behind her, and she turned to see her friend trembling.

“Here, take this. Go with them, Dorian.” She murmured, untying her potion belt and clasping it around his waist.

“But-”

“Knowing you, you’ll just stubbornly stay with me even after I tell you to go. I’m not letting you throw your life away.”

“And what of you? What about your fucking life?” He gripped her, knuckles turning white.

Before she could reply, the Commander came back with a few soldiers.

“They’ll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the treeline.” He ordered, and she nodded. She could see the unwavering faith the man put in her ability to succeed, the willingness to risk the entirety of Inquisition and Haven in a bet that she could do what no one else could. And she would not fail him. No, not ever.

“It’s been a pleasure, Commander.” She smiled and stuck her hand out for a shake. Both things he taught to her in a dream-like memory.

He grabbed her outstretched hand, but instead of shaking it he yanked her into an embrace. He locked an arm around her and dropped his head to the crook of her neck, crushing her form against his and she froze, shocked beyond words.

“Maker watch over you.” He whispered, and was gone.


	23. In Mar Lath'in Dys Nuisa (ny) - In Your Heart Shall Burn (4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path._
> 
> _We are the last Elvhenan. Never again shall we submit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elven credit to fenxshiral  
> Felasil: Fool
> 
> Taken from DA Wikia:  
> Falon'Din: god of death
> 
> Fervanis: Commonly referred to as "the Oak," the constellation Fervanis is generally represented by a towering tree with leafless branches. Some believe Fervanis was originally a constellation of the elven people - specifically, a depiction of Andruil, goddess of the Hunt. "Vir Tanadhal," or "Way of Three Trees," is a central tenet of Andruil, and some think that Fervanis originally represented this concept.
> 
> Equinor: Referred to as "the Stallion" in common parlance, the constellation Equinor has historically been depicted either as a rearing horse or a seated griffon. Some scholars speculate that the constellation's original image was that of a halla, which could indicate a deliberate supplantation of the constellation's original representation as Ghilan'nain, the elven goddess also known as "Mother of the Halla."

Soft grass whispering against her back. Sparkling stars shining high up in the heavens. Cool wind rustling her hair. She remembered these things, those calm nights of hers when she stood apart from her Clan, as vivid as the stench of burning flesh wafting in the air.

She used to watch the stars all night long, ignoring the quiet itch in the back of her mind. The familiar constellations always greeted her lonesome pair of eyes, bathing her in their gentle silvery light. Fervanis, a constellation of Andruil embraced her with a touch as tender as her wolves and Equinor galloped across the sky, free and magnificent.

She remembered all these things, but it was hard frozen dirt she now lay on top of, not the gentle grass field in the North. It was the blistering hot air razing Haven to the ground that threatened to set her on fire, not the balm wind of the forest. And in place of familiar soft starlight, a blighted being towered.

Soufehla crawled to her feet, refusing to be cowed. Alone, she stood to face the creature blocking out the stars. With nothing left to lose, nothing beside her heart black and blue with bruises too numerous to count, she stood alone against this one, final enemy.

 

_Pretender, you toy with forces beyond your ken. No more._

The dragon’s roar shook the ground and pierced her mind, its screech a physical torment to her thoughts. She gripped her head and howled in response, willing the pain away. She would not kneel. She would stand and fight. She would die standing on her own two feet, glaring them down.

_Enough._

 

The dragon stopped spewing its ungodly noises. Her ears rang with the remnants of its screams, an insistent pitch throbbing within. But that was not enough to block out the blighted creature stalking closer to her. She swayed on her feet, hand scrabbling for her staff that was nowhere to be found.

 

_Know me, know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The **will** that is Corypheus!_

 

No regret, she told herself. Her unremarkable life for the Inquisition. Her accursed existence for the remaining years of her companions. A fair trade, she smiled. A bargain, really.

 

_What marks you as ‘touched,’ what you flail at Rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens._

 

Snatching her Marked hand in his, the blighted thing pulled her into the air and snarled. The pain wrenched her apart as her wounded shoulder creaked in protest, blood pouring down her limb from the open gashes torn apart by the dragon’s talons. Forcing herself to breathe through the pain, she focused on the creature’s foul breath washing over her face, resisting the urge to gag. Monstrous. Evil. Corrupt. It was the embodiment of all these words, and more. It was the living incarnation of the sin of this world. With the creature’s face inches from hers, Soufehla could _smell_ the corruption clinging to its flesh. The red lyrium embedded in its bones shrieked its sensations of being _wrong_ , and Soufehla kicked at its chest to get away.

 

_Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the Gods, and **It Was Empty!**_

 

It threw her against the ground and she rolled and skidded in the middle of the small clearing. The dragon curled around with its scaly body, the snakelike scales removing any chance of escape. It pressed in towards her, herding her closer towards the blighted creature standing regal in its crimson taint. With dozens of fangs as long as her arm dripping saliva the dragon towered just above her, each foot crushing the dirt beneath it. She struggled to her feet once more. She would not yield, not ever. For her sake, as well as the Inquisition’s.

There was no regret for her, none when she could protect the Inquisition here and now. The only thing she wanted was to see the brilliant stars again… but the fire blazing across Haven swallowed them up in its maddening rage.

 

_I will begin again, find a way to give this world the nation – and **god** – it requires._

 

The signal fire shot up into the sky, and she laughed. Her gods must be listening, because her final wish was granted. It was a beautiful star, brilliant high in the heavens to guide Falon’Din to her. In the darkest of her hours, she made the same choice as she always made.

“Felasil,” She laughed, gathering her very last drop of mana in her palm. Enveloping her fist with her magic she spun and crashed it into the dragon’s tooth with all her strength. Scorching away all her remaining powers she tore out the ragged tooth from the dragon’s jaw. She screamed for the world to hear, for her voice to reach the heavens and Beyond.

“Ar’ea Dalish: amelan’or laim’eolas, uralasvenelan’or U’vir!” _I am the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path!_

Soufehla gripped the fang and roared, willing for the gods to hear her fight. She willed for the world to hear of her last stand, of this one stubborn little Dalish rushing headlong down the path she’d chosen. The path of protecting those dear to her heart, of solitude and darkness with Falon’Din awaiting her at its end. She drew her arm back and swung it forward, throwing the fang like a dagger. It spun and tore across the air, severing the rope tying the trebuchet down. A ferocious landslide tumbled down the mountain and Soufehla mocked the astounded creature gaping in amazement.

“Ar’ea fel’ala Elvhenan! Ar’dya Tel’vaslasa ena’sal!” _I am the last Elvhenan! Never again shall I submit!_

She screamed as she embraced the falling mountains. It was solitude she always chose, and to its embrace she returned.

 

*******

 

She woke with a start, as if water had been splashed into her face, but she lay still. Blinding pain suggested that this wasn’t the Beyond she had expected to wake up in. Her eyes swept around, habitually checking her surroundings for danger, then information. Frozen walls, old, rotting wooden beams supporting the stone ceiling caving in. Abandoned tools strewn about the floor. A long-forgotten mining cave, she assumed. Like the one she had used to reach the Breach right after the Conclave. She must have fallen through the weakened ceiling and rolled underneath where the beams supported the weight of the landslide. It was a miracle she hadn’t been buried alive.

Soufehla flexed each of her limbs, assessing the damage she’d taken. A few broken ribs, but none had punctured her lungs. One dislocated shoulder, still bleeding from when the dragon’s swipe had caught her earlier. A broken ankle, probably from falling through the landslide. A concussion, maybe. Bruises, everywhere.

A hollow laugh trickled out of her lips, only to turn into pained groans as her broken body trembled. There was no purpose to assess her state. Without her mana, she could not heal herself. She could not move with these wounds, and even if she could she was buried under a landslide. Even if the mining tunnels led her out of this stony tomb, she did not have the gears to survive the winter mountains by herself.

When Falon’Din came to guide her to the Beyond, she was going to have some serious words about his tardiness. Just how many times had he failed to appear now?

She had the Creators’ own luck for avoiding death for so long, but it had to run out eventually. And this _truly_ was the end. With no mana remaining in her blood, with no spells dancing on her fingers, she waited for death to claim her.

Soufehla hoped her pack of wolves had managed to avoid the landslide. She was fairly certain they escaped most of the avalanche – the pack leader must have led the pack away the moment he noticed Haven was under attack. She hoped they wouldn’t search for her. Not when her body was buried underneath a mountain.

It was Dalish custom to plant a tree over one’s body once they passed into the Beyond. None would know where her body was to do so for her – but she hoped that one day a tree would grow after the landslide settled. She was underneath a forest. It could happen with time.

A little honesty, just a little piece of her heart peeked out. Without the need to brace for the future, for the unending tirade of her life, a little piece of honesty squeezed out of her bruised heart. She smiled to herself at the absurdity of it. She could say now, she didn’t hate the Inquisition as much as she pretended to. She could say now, she was quite taken to the people of Inquisition.

She wondered if the Inquisition got away safely. They had sent the signal flare up, so they must have avoided the landslide. But did they get away in time? Did Corypheus’ army hunt them down? Or did they flee the red Templars altogether?

With the Commander leading the Inquisition, she trusted her companions to be safe. They must be. The Commander was a capable man. And she did as he entrusted her to. His faith in her hadn’t been misplaced, and she was certain her faith in him would be answered too.

If so, she’d pass into the Beyond while the others lived on.

She hadn’t expected to miss them so much though.

Each of her friends’ faces crossed her mind, lingering by to keep her company as she grew colder in the ice cave. She recounted the months spent with the Inquisition, each conversation carved into her memories. Each breath she drew slowed her heart, and warmth gave way to ice creeping up from her fingertips. Frost tingled up her limbs and flowed towards her heart. Her skin lost its color, turning blue like her surroundings even as she remembered the scarlet flames in bonfire she danced around in Haven just hours earlier.

Her breathing slowed to faint gasps. Her breath was no longer visible in the chilly air. Perhaps she’d stopped breathing. Or perhaps her breath was too icy to be seen.

Her chattering teeth had slowed too. Her muscles were too frozen, her warmth too far gone to cling to. Only her memories of the warmth she felt in the Commander’s embrace were the last traces of heat lingering before they too evaporated in the winter night. Embraced. Creators, her cheeks flushed weakly with the memories of him trapping her in a crushing hug. She hadn’t realized there was enough blood circulation left in her to _blush_. How silly, to blush like a young innocent da’lan thinking about a… a hug, while she counted her remaining breaths. Mythal help her, it was just a pat on the back! A hug between comrades in arms as a farewell. Farewell between friends, yes! Creators, did she feel her cheeks getting hotter?

No, no her cheeks remained icy in the cave. Her slowing heart could not beat hard enough, and Soufehla knew it was time. Sight faded and darkness creeped into her vision. She wasn’t so cold anymore either. Sounds of quiet wind blowing, creaks of rotten wood beams groaning, it all too faded. Nothing remained. With her last breath, she laughed.

“I shall… give you a hug too… in the Beyond, Commander. But… do not follow me too quickly.”

It was enough. She’d done enough.

A quiet song breathed in her last moments, keeping her company. A silent song which wound into her chilled blood. She smiled. It was a sweet song, a familiar song. It was good to have company in her last moments. Riding on its warm, gentle sound she could float away to the Beyond.

A familiar song. A song that always accompanied the Commander when she laughed with him. The song that had enveloped her when the Commander had pressed his hand into hers. When he had…  embraced her.

Her eyes snapped open.

The song of lyrium. The song of blue which sang without rest in Templars’ blood. The vial of the Commander’s lyrium sang in her breast pocket, calling, calling to her emptied magic.

A Templar’s lyrium. The Commander’s lyrium. It rested over her heart, beating in time with the weak, stuttering pulse of her magic. She’d given all her potions to Dorian – except for the vial Templar had given her. That small vial was singing over her heart.

Her arm crawled up to her breast pocket with agonizing pains and dragged the vial out. It glinted in the dim light inside the cave.

She hated it.

The source of power for Templars. She despised it. A corrosive, twisted, sickly hatred that dominated her mind.

But with her so weakened, so far removed from the Fade, even her hatred was muted. The rushing of blood, the demanding thumping of her heart did not come, and only the tired emptiness remained within her.

It was the Commander’s lyrium. What had he said? He would see her live. Even with all the troubles she caused, he would see her live. Was that why he gave her his lyrium? So that she would live?

One vial of lyrium wasn’t going to magically let her live. Her wounds were grave and she was stranded underneath a landslide in middle of winter mountains. One vial of lyrium would not let her _live._

But.

But what if?

What if it did?

She could heal her wounds with magic. She used to be a skilled healer. One of the best.

What if she could find a way out of this cave? There was a draft. There must be a way.

What if her magic warmed her through the winter mountains?

What if?

Would she drink it? Drink a Templars’ lyrium?

It rested heavy against her palm, its eerie glow ever constant.

It was the Commander’s lyrium. It was _his_.

She bit the cork and pulled, tugging until it popped free and she spat it out.

Fen’Harel take her, yes she would. She would take it if it offered her a chance. A chance to see the Inquisition again. To see her comrades, to see the Commander again.

She threw her head back, draining the contents. It swashed down her throat, leaving a little metallic aftertaste on her tongue.

Not even a beat had passed before mana poured into her veins, her magic rejoicing. Power sang in her palm, and aqua green healing spell glowed wherever her hand trailed.

Soufehla felt her ribs creaking into place, then she glued them together. If she jostled them too much they’d break once more but for now it would have to do.

With the Commander’s lyrium fueling her, she crawled to her knees. Her broken ankle dipped into the glow for a moment, and once the swelling disappeared she stopped casting.

None of her wounds were even remotely close to full recovery, but it would do for now. She leaned against the wooden beams and stood on unsteady legs. Her heart beat against her chest with insistent thumps, and warmth flowed back into her body. Heated breath frosted in cool air, and she took a step.

“Commander… I suppose I must come say my thanks to you in person.” She muttered.

Soufehla started off into the dark tunnels, following the faint trace of woody scent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed the story.  
> While screencapping for the photo for this chapter, I got some really incredible shots. I couldn't post all of them on here of course - so I posted them all on my tumblr blog [here](http://robotichawk.tumblr.com/tagged/in%20your%20heart%20shall%20burn). I'd appreciate it if you guys dropped by real quick to see Soufehla!


	24. In Mar Lath'in Dys Nuisa (va) - In Your Heart Shall Burn (5)

Silence. Suffocating, excruciating silence that crushed him under its weight. A hundred souls held their breaths, and even the pack beasts quieted.

He watched it all.

Climbing out from the Chantry and making the hike into the mountains, he could see. They could all see.

Rushing the people of the Inquisition up the steep trail nigh invisible among the ferns, he watched her and her friends surrounded by the red Templars while re-aiming the trebuchet.

Keeping screaming Dorian from running back down the mountain, Cullen saw Sera, Varric, and Solas pelting up the path behind the Inquisition. Roaring for the people to move, he watched the dragon send her lithe form hurtling across the air with a swipe.

Their Herald.

Alone.

Unflinching in the face of a dragon and a mythical adversary.

With cruel clarity they could hear the sounds floating up from Haven, as if the Maker Himself carried the spoken words to them on the wind. The claims of a madman, stealing the Throne of the Gods.

Every step they took, every breath they drew trampled on her life. Thrusting her into the hands of that monster, Cullen lead the Inquisition higher into the mountains. No one complained of the brutal pace he set for them, all eyes fixed on the one elf left alone by the trebuchet.

Breaking through the trees, they watched the dragon threatening to trample her. They watched the being aspiring to godhood readying for the final blow.

“Solas, light the signal,” he ordered. His voice was not his own, echoing somewhere far away.

A sparkling light shot up into the sky from the Mage’s staff, piercing the rosy twilight sky. Even from such distance, he could see her twisting around to see the light arching high above her, glaring against the rising sun.

He heard her laugh, a pure exultant cry of joy he’s heard on that night deep in the forest. When she’d laughed for first time, with a bow gripped in his hand and her twirling through the snow, it was the same laugh as then.

He had never thought he could hate hearing her laugh.

With golden sunlight of breaking dawn cascading down, she glowed with brilliance far outshining those stars in the heaven. He watched that mesmerizing sight, beautiful, mesmerizing, ethereal with an edge so cruel, so unearthly savage it made him yearn to claw his eyes out. In the dim glow of the sun peeking over the crescent of the highest mountain, she screamed into the fleeing night.

“Ar’ea Dirtha’var’en’vhen: amelanan or eolas’laim, virelanen or vir’u. Ar’ea fel’ala or Elvhenan! Ar’dya tel’vaslasa ena’sal!”

Lit by the sun rising into the heavens, they watched her being swept under the roaring current of mountain and snow.

Then nothing. Thick, oozy, sickly nothing crawling through the air. Not even a warm drop of tear melting the snow, no wind rustling their cloaks. Simply, nothing. Only the echo of her voice remained, ringing in their heart.

“Solas,” Cassandra whispered. In the quiet it sounded as if she had shouted out loud.

“What did she say when she… fell?” She asked, a whisper of breath.

Solas closed his eyes. Gentle words fell from his lips, ringing across the dawn for all to hear.

“‘ _I am the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. I am the last Elvhenan. Never again shall I submit._ ’ It is the Oath of the Dales, Seeker. The promise of the Dalish.”

“I… see.”

“She is… was, a strong da’lan.”

It was his voice which shattered the moment.

“Inquisition, move out!” He roared.

“But, Commander…” Josephine looked up, voice thick with unshed tears but he shook his head.

“How can you say that?” Dorian stalked up to him and jabbed his chest. “She just died! Crushed! Buried alive under a mountain! And we put her there! Can you not feel-”

“I will not allow for this chance she has given her life for to be squandered standing about in a mountain. I will grieve once I make certain her death was not in vain. Inquisition will move.”

He looked to the others and growled.

_“Now.”_

Silent, teary eyes exchanged gazes at his words. Uncertain, agonized questions lingered in their eyes.

Then Leliana moved. Leading trembling Josephine by her arm she took a step, then another, heading deeper into the forest. Solas was next, using his staff like a walking stick he followed Leliana. Then Bull, leading his Chargers to safety. The villagers of Haven, Blackwall, Sera, the soldiers… everyone. Glancing over their shoulders to see the smoking Haven, they moved forward.

“Dorian, we will move,” he said, pulling the Mage by his arm. Varric brought up the rear.

He plowed through the snow, putting one foot in front of another, his arm tugging at Dorian as a constant reminder. A reminder to him as well as the Mage of the need to survive. He could not falter, not here. Not when she threw her bloody life away for this.

“She gave me all her potions.” Dorian whispered, trudging along. “All her potions. Said it’ll be more use to us. Maker…”

“She would not have used them anyway, Dorian.”

“With them, she might’ve…”

“She wanted us to live,” he sighed. “Lavellan protected us the only way she knew how. I do not plan on failing her now.”

“…she _would_ give me hell if she saw me now.” Dorian muttered.

“She would throw you into that snowbank and yell,” he agreed.

“She… would get mad I wasn’t helping. All the while pretending she wasn’t helping anyone.”

Cullen did not respond, simply walking forward wherever his feet led.

“I will go. And help. She gave me all her potions. There’s got to be some wretched villager needing it somewhere.” Dorian tried for a smile, and left.

He would not fail her. Never, not after how she did all he asked, and more. She entrusted this Inquisition to him, the Commander.

And the Commander he shall be. Who never falters, never hesitates, and keeps people _safe._

“Jim, tell Leliana to send her scouts out to search the area ahead.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Tanner, take a squad and reinforce the back. Watch for stragglers. And get Harding to report to me.”

“Ser!” He ran ahead, his boots leaving deep footprints in the snow.

Lavellan could glide across a snowfield as if she floated, barely leaving a trace in the pure sparkling white. How she did, he had no idea. Now he would never know.

“Varric, could you ask Solas to get a count of the wounded and assist Dorian in healing?”

The dwarf looked at him, seeming weary of the world. Cullen did not know what the dwarf saw in his face, but he patted his leg and nodded without a word of bravado.

“Yeah. Well, Chuckles, Sparkles, and I will worry about that. You… you do what you have to, Curly.”

“Thank you, Varric.”

“Commander!”

“Harding, scout back towards Haven and search for any signs of pursuers. Be careful not to stray too far.”

“Right away, ser.”

They march. The Commander drives the people forward, no room for rest, no room for break. Through the thin, jagged air which often fails to inflate their lungs, through the stone-laden feet losing all sensations with frostbites clinging to their wet, soggy boots, the Inquisition marched. Daggers hidden in the folds of icy winds, ambushes of pitfalls under glaring snow, it never ends. But he must keep them safe. She trusted he would.

“Ser, the people need rest. They’ve marched for a day without stop.”

“No, a bit further. We will move a bit further. We cannot know if they are searching for us. Put the stragglers on druffalos if you must but Inquisition will not stop today.”

_I thought you knew how to run an army, Commander?_

He whipped up, staring at smirking Lavellan.

_Nightfall is coming, Commander. And a terrible snowstorm. You’ve set a punishing pace through the mountains and eventually they must stop and rest. And yet have you even thought about gathering food for the people?_

He gaped.

“Commander? Commander! Are you alright, ser?”

He shook his head, and only billowing snow remained where she just stood.

“I’m… fine. How much food did we manage to bring from Haven?” He sighed.

“…not much, ser.”

“Tell Rylen to organize a hunting party. There must be some game in these forests.”

The man saluted and disappeared. Then she was back, eyes narrowed, lips thinned. Perched on a snow sled pulled by a druffalo, she tutted.

_Do you intend to march them all night long too? You know, most of them aren’t built like you. Or me. They tend to need things like food and sleep, and none are as accustomed to the wilds as me. I can hear you shems complaining all the way from here: oh the air is too thin, ah the winter is so cold, the ground is too slippery and icy, argh hiking is so difficult…_

“Would you have them stop?”

_Running an army is your forte, not mine._

“I do not know if it is safe! I will not allow the Inquisition to fall, not after what you’ve done!”

_You underestimate the damage I caused with that avalanche._

No. No he did not.

Because that avalanche was what killed her.

“Commander! There is a small valley up ahead!”

“Is it suitable for a camp?”

“Ser? Uh… yes, ser…?”

“Spread the word, we will take refuge there from this snow storm tonight.”

 

*******

 

“Commander, the tents are set up for the healers!”

“Guards are posted, by your order.”

“Scout Harding reporting, ser! No sign of enemies.”

The swirl of soldiers and scouts surrounding him pulled away with time and the number of reports finally dwindled as the chaotic process of camp settlement progressed. Cradled between two peaks of mountains, the valley was safe from the harsh winter forest and the Inquisition paused for a moment to take a breath. To take a breath, to stop for a moment and absorb the pain and humiliation of the defeat they’d suffered by the hands of that monster.

He stepped over to Josephine who was sitting by a small fire with Leliana and others.

“Do you have a vellum I may use?” He asked. She looked up, drained of even tears to shed over their lost comrade. Empty and weak, like the rest of them. Like him.

She did not bother to ask why, simply nodded towards a pack mule. He gripped her arm in thanks before rummaging through the things. He found what he was looking for – a piece of thick vellum, inkwell, and a quill.

Cullen strolled into one of the hastily erected tents, throwing his shield and sword onto the packed down dirt. Rylen shot to his feet at the sight.

“At ease. I’m but a bunkmate tonight.” He sighed.

“Commander! Did no one set up your own-?”

He waved, dropping onto the empty bedroll. “It’s fine. There’s no need to erect another tent for me to use by myself. There are far more pressing matters to attend to. Let the men rest.”

“…if you say so, ser. Those sorry sods on latrine duty sure could use a break. You’ll have to pardon my snoring.” Rylen shrugged, turned and fell back into his bedroll.

It wasn’t long before he indeed started to snore. Despite it all, it brought a ghost of a smile to his lips.

Placing the vellum over his shield for a makeshift table, Cullen dipped the quill in the inkwell. His hand trembled ever so slightly while holding the quill in the air, and he couldn’t be certain whether it was due to his lyrium withdrawals, or… something else.

Pressing the tip of quill down onto the vellum, Cullen scratched out the first letters.

_Greetings to Clan Lavellan,_

He paused, forcing his breaths to be even.

_I write to you in the wake of the battle against a being claiming to be the first darkspawn of this world. Despite successfully sealing the Breach without trouble, your First fell while defending the Inquisition_

No, that wasn’t right. She did so much more than that. Lavellan had delivered them all from death. No one, not one soul would be here right now without her sacrifice.

_Facing against the being claiming godhood, she protected us_

No. No, that was wrong. Because she was commanded to die. She was commanded to give up her life in exchange for theirs. _He_ commanded her. _He_ gave the order, knowing full well Lavellan would never survive the confrontation. He did this to her. He had shoved her into that clearing surrounded by a dragon and the first darkspawn, made her laugh with glee at her own coming demise. He clenched the quill, scribbling faster.

_We are forever in her debt. Her last words were the Oath of the Dales._

He murdered her. Shoved her into that landslide. Her blood was on his hands.

_Her sacrifice will be remembered_

He crushed the vellum and hurled it across the tent. Tears threatened to spill from his misty eyes, and Cullen rubbed furiously with his hands. What right did he have to mourn her passing when he gave the order? He had no right to feel so, absolutely no reason nor right to have his hands tremble, to feel warm tears gliding down his cheeks, to feel his chest rumbling with screams threatening to rip out.

It was his failure as a Commander that led to her death.

So why did he feel the need to pound his weeping heart? What set his blood on fire, and drowned his thoughts in grief?

Walker of the lonely path, she said. He thrust her onto that path. He practically threw her on her knees in front of that monster, while she swore she would not submit.

Cullen bolted up. Rylen snored away in the small tent, blissfully unaware of his movements. He shed his heavy armor with lightning speed, icy metal falling away to clunk onto the floor. Without being encased in frozen metal, he could move quicker. Without bothering to put away the pieces of the armor littering the floor, Cullen threw on his furred cloak and left the tent.

Freezing wind immediately scratched at his exposed skin and tore at his clothes but Cullen paid no mind. He grabbed a nearby messenger and yanked him back.

“You, get me a torch.” He ordered.

“Ser?”

“Now. Torch.”

“Yes, ser!” The messenger fled.

“Commander?”

“Leliana.” He inclined his head. He knew what she’d say. But he was beyond caring.

“What could you possibly need a torch for, Commander?” She asked, eyes glinting in the darkness.

“Do not stop me.”

“Commander-”

“No. I am Cullen, not the Commander. I am going.”

“We’ve already lost the Herald. We cannot lose our Commander too! You know she is dead! She is gone! There’s no way she could have survived a mountain falling on top of her.”

“I am aware.”

“Cullen,”

“Ser!” The messenger came back with a torch and he plunged it into the campfire to lit it.

“I must go. I _must.”_

Leliana looked to him with steady eyes. He met her gaze, then turned away.

“She made me promise, you know. To keep everyone safe.” She whispered behind him.

“I will come back. The Inquisition will have its Commander.” He replied.

“Cassandra says she’s going as well. Move together, if you must.”

Cullen nodded, and walked into the darkness leading back to Haven.


	25. In Mar Lath'in Dys Nuisa (no) - In Your Heart Shall Burn (6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pulse, a weak heartbeat to thump against his lips – by the Maker, there it is! Thin and too slow, but an insistent thud against his frozen, chapped lips.

She had eyes that glowed in the dark with the barest hint of amethyst hidden deep within ebony irises. The swirling lush green tattoos underneath added an exotic touch to her steely gaze, sharp and piercing like her brilliant mind. Straight nose turned up at the tip, and her rosy lips were often thinned into an unsatisfied frown until her eyes lit up with that spark. Then her lips twitched into a grin more beautiful than any other, a rare treat for those who were lucky enough to witness. He was very luck indeed, to be the first to see her laugh.

Her ears were long and pointy, even for an elf. At least he thought so, from the limited experience he’s had with elven Mages. He’d enjoyed watching how they twitched, flickered, and swiveled depending on her moods as readily as a pup’s might. He’d wanted to ask if she knew her ears moved. He hadn't worked up the courage to sound the question out loud.

There were nine silver bells braided into her hair. He counted them that one time while they sat drinking together in the tavern, after they made peace in the forest. Those tiny bells rang notes pitched high and clear, like a singing canary. And yet when she glided across the ground without a whisper of noise, those bells never jostled. He used to wonder how she could ever move without those nine bells betraying her presence. He had gotten close to asking out of curiosity, but had put it off.

Her furry armor wrapped around her body as if it was second skin, and Cullen remembered how natural she looked in her strange, elven armor. Grey furs that made her look twice her normal size… Dorian had always poked fun at her for her low endurance of the southern cold and she shot right back – then they’d look at him and shake their heads. It’s because I’m Ferelden, he’d chuckle at them. She’d rolled her eyes, and even poked a tip of her tongue out once.

He could almost see her smile lighting up her face in the snowy night – when pure snowflakes clung to her hair like gems. Shining like the world’s most precious stones in her black hair… and when he’d carried her to her cabin, she’d looked so… so in peace… so soft, so serene… would she look just so now? Entombed in this cruel winter forest, will she be as how he remembered? Gentle and kind while swaddled in this blanket of ice?

Relentless snowflakes came down from the now-pitch black sky. The snow was piling up to his thighs now. What if this encompassing white covered her from his searching eyes? What if this merciless snow hid her lithe form lying limp on the ground? He pushed through the resisting snowbanks, leaving behind a wavy trail of depression in the flawless ice-blue canvas.

His torch stuttered in the gusting wind, sputtering and flickering without rest, fighting for its light. Wavering amber glow lit three feet, perhaps five, in front of him. Suffocating darkness pressed in from all directions, blinding him to her possible presence.

“Cullen! This is hopeless.” Cassandra called to him from behind, an arm raised over her eyes to protect herself from the whipping winds with raised claws. He doggedly stomped forward.

“At the very least we must have more light!” She shouted over the howling wind. Her torch had already burned out.

“We will freeze out here! We must turn back!”

“…Cassandra,” he mumbled. She struggled up to him through the snow and laid her hand over his shoulder.

“She fell,” he spoke.

“Cullen, this is foolhardy. We will-”

“You know as well as I do, she fell to protect us.”

“Cullen, she’s-”

“Gone.”

Cassandra stopped speaking, simply squeezing his shoulder harder. They stood in the cold, unable to meet each other’s eyes – guilt too plain in their heart. Silence stretched out over their panting breaths, heavy, heated breaths frosting in the air.

“…and yet, I cannot stop. I cannot turn around, Cassandra. She’s in my thoughts. It seems I’m unable to let her go just yet.”

“I see.”

Cassandra gripped him tighter, her eyes softening ever so slightly. For some reason, it made him fumble for words.

“I-”

“What are you standing still for, Cullen? You’re wasting our precious light. Did you forget we came out here to find her?”

Cassandra rapped her hand against his back and started forward again, refusing to look back. He felt a memory of a grin springing to his lips – he owed her a drink when they survived this. Gripping the torch tighter he started forward once more, knowing the truth, and yet willfully ignorant.

“We are fools, Cassandra.”

“You are. I am simply keeping our Comman-”

“Stop! Don’t move.”

“Wha-”

He grabbed her and hunkered down in the snow and threw the torch down to put out the fire. Peeking at the shadows lurking just at the edge of his peripherals, he and Cassandra spied dark forms speeding across the ice-blue plane, almost invisible against the deep night. They both unsheathed their swords, though neither had brought a shield with them. He cursed silently, hefting his longsword.

“Enemies? Could the Templars have followed all this way?”

“Harding reported she didn’t sight any pursuers…” He muttered, squinting.

“They’re moving fast. And moving towards the Inquisition. We must inform them!”

“Cassandra, hurry back and alert the Inquisition. I will trail... are they…?”

“Wolves!”

“I’ve never seen a pack so huge. Maker, if they were to attack the camp now…”

“Let’s move.”

“Wait! There! There, it’s… it’s her!”

“Cullen!”

But he was no longer listening. He bolted from their cover, pelting across the snow towards the wolves with his sword ready. He could see her, Maker, he could actually _see_ her slung over that monstrously gigantic wolf. The wolves of the pack swirled around and bared their teeth, hackles rising, growls rumbling like a wave rolling across their numbers. But he did not stop, rushing headlong for _her._

Then, the wolves were running towards him. Like the wind they sped towards him, and Cullen heard Cassandra screaming her battle cry as she ran after him. He brought his sword up to attack – and dropped it.

The gigantic wolf had twisted and skidded at the very last second, hurling the body of Lavellan straight at his hands. He caught her as she sailed across the air, his longsword flopping uselessly into the snow by his feet.

Maker’s breath, she was drenched in frozen blood. Was it hers? She was like _ice_. But…

He lifted her and pressed his lips against her throat, searching for a beat, for a stuttering, shredding thread of hope. A pulse, a weak heartbeat to thump against his lips – by the Maker, there it is! Thin and too slow, but an insistent thud against his frozen, chapped lips. A proof of life.

“Cullen!” Cassandra’s scream brought him up short, and he lurched back away from the wolves realizing he’d stood still for far too long. He could not pick up his sword, not with his gloved hands full of injured Lavellan. And Cassandra was still too far away to help. He staggered back as the gigantic wolf – an alpha? – lunged forward and yanked Lavellan out of his embrace with a nip on her furs.

The alpha wolf swung limp Lavellan around to sling over its back again, and stared at him.

The wolf was… carrying Lavellan. Protecting her, perhaps? Carrying her towards the Inquisition… and it had given him enough time to check for her pulse. Maker, could it be…?

The alpha wolf nudged hard at his leg with its head and then yanked at his cloak with a bite, stumbling him. Cassandra ran up to them with sword raised high, and Cullen threw out his hands to stop her.

“Wait, Cassandra! Stop!”

“Cullen?!” She twisted, stumbling into him as she narrowly avoided skewering him with her sword. They sprawled in the snow, panting.

“They’re protecting her!” He sprang to his feet.

“What- ah!” Another huge wolf had approached them, and threw her over its back while she was unbalanced from the tumble. There was another yank from the gigantic wolf, and Cullen did not stop to think. Scooping up his sword and sheathing it he jumped onto the wolf’s back and pulled Lavellan into his arms, pressing her against his chest. Wrapping her in his thick fur coat, he leaned low and grabbed its hackles just as the wolf bolted forward with frightful speed.

“What is going on here?!” He heard Cassandra scream somewhere, and shouted back.

“They can move much faster than us! She’s alive, Cassandra!”

“They’re _wolves!_ They… what?!”

“Lavellan’s alive! I felt her pulse, but she needs healers! For whatever reasons, these wolves are willing to help and I for one will not stop them.”

“She… she’s alive?”

“Yes!”

Yes, by the Maker, the word squeezed his throat and froze his tongue. Alive. Barely, but still, _alive_.

“Faster, Maker, faster. Run with the wind, wolf, for her sake as well as ours,” he whispered, leaning low over the wolf with Lavellan clutched against him.

As if it understood his words, it sped into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: Cullen is searching for Lavellan's pulse with his lips because:  
> 1) his hands are gloved and he doesn't have time to pull his gloves off  
> 2) he would have to drop her to use his fingers  
> 3) lips are one of the most sensitive parts of the body.
> 
> Comments, comments, comments plz <3


	26. break

Hey guys. So I know I've really slowed down posting chapters here, and it's because rl is really kicking my ass. I've tried to keep it as steady as I can since this is a rework, but I've really reached my limit.

I've been laid off and burned through my savings past seven months, and still haven't been able to find a job. Even if I did get a job, I couldn't work enough hours to keep my place since I'm a full time student.

I'm at a point where I may get kicked out of my apartment this month, and I simply don't have time to write anymore unless it's for money. But my skills aren't good enough for patreon, so I'm just going to have to stop until I can get back on my feet. Sorry you guys, thanks for reading up til now. I have no idea when I can start this back up, but if you guys stay subscribed I'll let you guys know once I figure out when I can come back.


	27. Notice

Hello Everyone,

i don't know if anybody is still waiting for this story. But just in case there are people still waiting;

I apologize for stopping the story midway... AGAIN. Lots of things happened in my life. To list a few:

I had to change jobs three times, and now I'm working three different part time jobs, and went to school full time at the same time.  
I had to move out of my old place as well - found a new place to move in.  
Lost my beta readers - (love you guys!!) - they're also very busy with their lives.

 

Things have not really changed. I still:  
1) go to school full time  
2) work 2 different jobs  
3) have no time to eat and sleep

BUT

I have found out:  
1) I have Major Cyclical Depressive disorder  
2) writing and gaming seems to help me incredibly well

 

and you know what? I just  _really_  darn miss writing. So,

I am going to be writing again. It will be  **VERY SLOW**. Because, you know, life. And sadly, I must still eat and sleep to function like most humans. At least once every three days.

 

 

Bad news:  
1) **I HAVE NO BETA READER.**  I am searching, so if you are interested,  _ **PLEASE**  _let me know. I needed a beta reader 3 months ago, and I still haven't found somebody.

  
2) I am now on [ **Patreon**](https://www.patreon.com/TeencyHawk). Sorry guys, but with going to school full time and working two part time jobs, I simply just DO NOT have time to be creating for free. So my work is going on [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/TeencyHawk).  
Of course, I WILL be posting my works on AO3 when my posts open up to public, so do not worry! 

 

I don't have a set date on when I'm going to come back to World Torn Asunder yet unlike Second Chance for Him... I'm hoping I can get the next chapter up on [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/TeencyHawk) by 11/18/2017 but we will see. Stay subscribed, and get the notification whenever it opens up to the public and read it then! Or if you want to support me on [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/TeencyHawk), please feel free to do so!!! You guys will make my writing a possibility!

 

If you have any questions please leave comments or send me a message or an ask on [tumblr](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4163601/chapters/robotichawk.tumblr.com). Once again, sorry for everything guys.


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